Charming Pawse Book I
by wanderingchat
Summary: He's the Sgt at Arms of SAMCRO. He's a cold blooded killer and a sexual deviant. She is a widow from Indiana who is kind, decent and fears little. Two more diverse people couldn't really hit it off, or could they?


**_DISCLAIMER_**

**_The following is a work of fiction. The names of characters created by Kevin Sutter for the program Sons of Anarchy are utilized, as well as certain story lines, no infringement of copyright is intended._**

**_Additionally, references to popular songs, as well as excerpts from the songs "Young Guns" and 'Home/No Matter What' are used without the permission - written, verbal, implied or otherwise - of Jon Bon Jovi, Andrew Lloyd Weber and Jim Steinman._**

**_No copyright infringement of any kind is intended nor desired._**

Much thanks and love go to the following:

My DH (who is thankfully very much alive!), for taking the time to offer insights and for reading this.. Thank you for having enough love in your heart and strength of spirt to allow me all my little obsessions and not feel threatened by them.

My best friend (who does live in FL) for kicking my ass when needed, and for love, loyalty and support throughout these years. Also for taking time to read through this volume and make suggestions.

The Indy Tarts and Tartans Gerard Butler fan group, for giving encouragement in this venture, that has very little GB involvement. Tignation and Facebook friends who also took an interest and added their encouragement. You know who you are.

Finally, much thanks to Mr. Kurt Sutter for creating the SOA universe in the first place, and to Mr. Kim Coates for his excellent portrayal of Alex 'Tig' Trager.

**Chaming Pawse**

Her life had been good, once She had a husband she loved and who loved her, a nice house, a good job. Everything was perfect, until the day her husband's life was snuffed out by a drug fiend in need of money for a fix.

The thug robbed the video store her husband managed. Angry that he didn't open the cash register fast enough, the thug emptied his revolver into her husband's body. He then grabbed all the cash in the open drawer and ran off into the night.

As if the Fates hadn't already had a good laugh at her expense, the day she buried her husband was the same day their home was burglarized. Anything and everything of value that was easy enough to cart away was gone.

She returned from the cemetery to find her front door busted in and the house trashed. Their cats, though terrorized, were still alive.

She decided to put as many miles as possible between herself and the city she'd called home for decades. The life she'd known was gone, she had to make a new one someplace else.

Though she had family that lived in the state, she had no desire to stay where she'd be haunted by memories at every turn. Nor did she want to relocate to her in-laws' state.

Once her husband's insurance and estate were settled, she put the house up for sale with a realtor friend. She then quit her job, packed her remaining possession into a U-Haul, and loaded her car on a trailer behind it.

She and the cats journeyed all the way across the country, headed for a town that she had literally picked by throwing a dart at the map: Charming, California.

One week and several thousand weary miles later, she found Charming nearly lived up to its name. It was not a large metropolitan city like the one she'd left, but not so small as to be completely rural. She felt she might be able to make some measure of happiness there.

She found and purchased a small house for a reasonable price. A storefront was for sale on the street behind it which she also bought. She then began the process of setting up a business and craving out a new life.

One of the first things she determined was that Charming needed a community coffeehouse.

Her former city had corporate and locally owned coffee shops on nearly every corner, but Charming had none.

The only place to get any good coffee was the large family-style restaurant on the outskirts of town. Being a restaurant, there wasn't a lot of incentive for customers to stick around after their meal.

Her shop would invite the customer to stick around with their cuppa, read a book, chat with friends, knit or crochet to their hearts content - even hold a study group in comfort - as there would be plenty of inviting sofas and chairs instead of hard wooden seats and dining tables.

To further entice customers, she would offer a book exchange. People could find a new friend to read, and recycle those old friends that were gathering dust. The books would be free.

She also wanted to set it up for her cats to be a part of the store. One room opened into one side of the store. She asked a contractor if the wall would support a large picture window in the wall.

When he indicated it would, she had him draw up blueprints so the cats could have a room of their own. They could lay in the sun and play, and people could watch them without worrying about fur in their cups or aggravating allergies. .

She'd be selective about the coffees she'd offer, and roasting the beans on site would be less expensive in the long run than having them roasted prior to delivery.

There was also the benefit of keeping the stock fresher by doing her own roasting. The machine would be located in the back of the store. Eventually, she would even offer flavored coffees, possibly around the holidays.

It was both an extensive and expensive plan. God knew she had the operating capital to do it. She'd never been afraid of a challenge and she was going to go full throttle on this one.

Once she had all her plans and blueprints worked out, she began the work of convincing the city fathers that her idea would work for Charming. Though her building was zoned for commercial purposes, she had to get approval for the cat area and the renovations to accommodate the roaster.

She showed up for the first meeting in her favorite outfit, only to be met with a certain amount of apprehension. Why it should matter that she chose to wear all black was beyond her comprehension. She was a widow, it was natural to wear black.

Of course, the _type _of black attire might've been the cause of their unease. She chose to wear black corduroy pants, black shirt, and long boots. A long black corduroy duster and fedora completed her ensemble.

But she suspected that the dark tinted eyeglasses were the true cause of their unrest. She removed the hat and coat, but the glasses remained. Without them, she couldn't see worth a damn and they were dark by necessity.

She decided she had to nip their consternation in the bud, or her idea would be dead in the water. So when it came her turn to address the council, she tackled their unspoken concern.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the shades. The eye doctor dilated my pupils earlier and that always makes my eyes extremely sensitive to light. Without my glasses, I can't see you well, and the waterin' eyes might make people think I was tryin' to use my feminine tears to influence y'all."

Though her appearance was unusual, she spoke from the heart, and nearly everyone in the room had been through the same procedure. They could easily sympathize. They also laughed appreciatively at her humor and her accent. The tension in the room eased.

Knowing she had their full attention, she explained her plans in detail. She answered the questions put to her with unwavering facts and figures, using a small scale model to further demonstrate her idea.

She didn't leave out the spectators. Her store would be a part of _their_ town, so she would often turn to the audience to involve them.

Her glances took in the presence of a biker in the gallery. He also wore shades and all black. That certainly explained to her the unease she'd felt earlier in the room!

Other than a passing curiosity that a biker had _**any **_interest in her coffee shop, she didn't give his presence much attention. Her concentration was centered on getting the necessary approval for her enterprise.

It took two meetings over four weeks to get that full approval. Though some of the minor remodeling could be started. most of the work couldn't begin without the council's full approval.

Once she got the green light, she lost no time in getting the store prepared. She'd often grab a hammer or saw and help the workmen in order to meet her self-imposed deadline.

One full wall was devoted to book shelves filled with everything from classic literature to more recent novels, both in hardback and paperback. The sign above the shelves invited readers to take a book, and to bring unwanted or unread books back to share.

The opposite wall held the picture window for the cat room. The front window let in plenty of sun for them, and the room was carpeted. Cat trees, ramps, shelves, and hammocks were placed all over the room. A decorative screen sheltered their litter pan.

A cat door let them into the room from outside, while a fenced run she constructed allowed them to move from the house to the store in safety. To further insure her safety and theirs, she had a large fence constructed around the house to the back of the store. It wasn't fool proof, but she felt it was as safe as she could make it.

There would be no high speed wireless internet, but she did set up a trio of computers with internet access. She also took the precaution of putting blocks on the internet so youngsters couldn't get onto any pornographic or other adult web sites.

Music wasn't piped in from a service. She didn't like music services as they put too many good live deejays out of work. Whatever she felt like listening to was played. She had a stereo with CD, cassette player and turntable set up. The customers would hear a wide range of 60's. 70's and 80's rock, pop, and some occasional country or classical music.

Within a few weeks of opening, _Charming Pawse_, as she named the store, became a popular destination. The coffee was fresh roasted and always freshly brewed.

The food, though limited to scones, cookies and muffins in the morning and soup in the afternoon was always home made. No one felt the need to rush out, as the atmosphere was laid back and inviting.

During the first few weeks after opening, the owner was the only person running the store from open to close. But as the business grew she was able to hire part time employees to help out. She eventually turned over the store operation on Saturdays to the part timers. The store was closed on Sundays. Weekends were reserved for the one pastime her husband never shared with her, motorcycle riding.

Soon after her arrival and settling into her house, she purchased a black 750CC Yamaha. It reminded her of the one she'd owned when she met her husband. She named it _Blackie II. _Naming her vehicles was a life long habit. Her first vehicle, a 1966 Plymouth Fury III was dubbed '_The Millennium Falcon_" after the ship in the movie Star Wars. All her favorite vehicles carried that name, while her first motorcycle had been named _Blackie_. Her husband had named the red PT, which was the sixth vehicle named after the space ship, '_The MF Six_' for short. Sometimes they had referred to it as '_Big Red_'.

She'd given up riding when they wed. He was afraid of motorcycles as a rule and would never ride with her. He also feared for her safety after a car sideswiped and seriously injured her just before their marriage. Now that he was gone she could ride again, but she felt little joy in it. The rides were just another way she had of escaping the pain. Every weekend she would ride for miles, taking in the scenery.

As she was getting the store ready, she often heard the roar of Harley Davidson engines, and would look up to see a group of bikes cruising down the road. The riders were always men dressed in black vests with 'Sons of Anarchy' written on the back, a fearsome looking Grim Reaper beneath the lettering.

Sometimes she would hear one engine, and look out to see a black haired rider passing slowly by. Sometimes the rider would park across the street and look at the store. Either he was a caffeine addict with a serious jones or he was casing the joint to see what was worth taking. Whichever was the case she wanted to get to the bottom of it. The next time she heard the lone engine stop outside, she walked determinedly out into the street to confront him. She intended to ask his intentions. What was the worse that could happen?

When the rider saw her walk out the door and start across the street, he gunned the engine and raced away without sparing a parting glance.

After that one attempt she didn't hear the one bike cruise by, so maybe she had called his bluff. She didn't waste time thinking about it, as there was just too much to do.

She never saw any women riders. Once in awhile she would see a female riding behind one of the club members. As far as she could tell, she was the only female rider in the entire town.

Some of her clients would shake their heads and mutter about the club, but she paid little heed to the gossip. To her, each side had a story and the truth was somewhere in the middle.

She actually felt having a motorcycle club in the town was a good thing, as it kept drive by shootings and random robberies by drug fiends from happening. Another point in their favor was that none of them, including the black haired rider, had come to her about paying for 'protection'. Paying protection to gangs had been a problem in her former city with the street gangs. She was glad that she didn't have to deal with it in her new home.

For every negative thing she'd hear about the club, there was also evidence that they did some good, such as their charity rides. That told her these weren't just a bunch of macho little boys playing big bad motorcycle tough. he riders' machines were well maintained, with none of those annoying flame or skull-and-cross bone emblems. She secretly admired the Harleys. She'd considered getting one herself, but went with the 'rice burner' both out of sentiment and familiarity.

A few weeks after the grand opening, she had the opportunity to meet and serve coffee to a member of the Sons. His entrance caused all conversation to come to an immediate stop. Several patrons scurried out as the biker walked up to the counter.

Her customers' obvious discomfort over the rider's presence annoyed her. Maybe the Sons _were _a criminal element of some kind, but that didn't mean they had to be treated as pariahs.

She'd always expected the best out of people until and unless they proved her wrong. It would've been easy to allow herself to expect the worst, considering all she'd lost and how she'd lost it. She refused to give in to that kind of thinking. It went against everything she'd been taught. To change those beliefs would give thugs like her husband's killer an undeserved victory.

The rider was tall, with head and facial hair as black as the leather vest he wore. The vest read 'Sgt at Arms' on his left, along with two other patches on the other side; 'Redwood' and 'Original'. She had a feeling that she'd seen him before, but couldn't recall where or when. Maybe on the street when she was riding? It didn't really matter at the moment.

He had an aura of danger about him, but she also sensed loneliness. Though he had a long blade holstered to his hip, the chances that he was going to use it to pull a daylight robbery appeared to be nil.

Just to be on the safe side, she glanced at the shelf where she kept her trusty baseball bat. It was laying right where she could grab it if she needed it.

"What can I fix for you today, sir?" she asked in the same friendly, polite way she greeted every customer.

There was no false 'I'm greeting you because I have to sell you something' in her attitude, nor did she seem anxious to get him served and the Hell out of her store.

The rider recalled her voice from the council meetings as one he'd found particularly pleasant. She spoke in a lower register than most women. Her voice had a hint of a Southern accent to it. Her voice wasn't annoying and the accent didn't seem to be fake. He found it warm and inviting. It flowed naturally from her, just as the welcome and friendliness in her expression

"Coffee. Black, " he replied. "None of that fancy ass latte shit, just black coffee."

She found his voice not unpleasant. It was low, almost like a growl. It reminded her of a panther at rest, and hinted of the power and danger the man radiated.

"Do you want that here, or to go?"

He gazed over the rim of his sunglasses at her. His eyes were blue. His manner of peering over the glasses was exactly the way she used to stare at her husband when he'd said something really dumb. The rider's glare didn't bother her, except to bring up a bittersweet but treasured memory.

"I know, 'duh!' It's a pain to try to ride with a cup of hot coffee, so I developed a cup for motorcycles. At least if you _want _it to go, you don't have to risk a nasty burn or a spill."

The rider continued to look over his shades at her. He definitely had what she called 'the look' down pat. "Really.".

She detected no hint of sarcasm in his response, which encouraged her to continue. "I ride. Nothing like that beauty out there," she replied, referring to the Harley parked out front

"I've had more than my share of burned fingers and sloshed hot liquid all over my paint and pants. Neither the rice burners like mine nor the American makes put cupholders on bikes.. It's hard to ride and drink at the same time without losing speed."

"Ever hear of throttle locks?" .he queried, still peering over the top of his shades.

"Oh - kay, " she hadn't. Maybe they were only common on Harleys? "That's fine for when you're moving, but you _still _have to gear up. Last time I checked, that takes both hands," she countered, her right eyebrow rising to her hairline.

If the fact that she was brave enough to answer him back surprised him, he didn't allow it to show. He didn't respond to her challenge, either, except to continue staring.

She poured the coffee into the largest size travel cup she offered and placed it on the counter in front of the biker.

"That's one coffee, black."

He pulled out his wallet which was attached to his belt by a silver chain. He started to hand over a bill, but she waved it away with a shake of her head and placed a cover with a tab on top of it next to the cup.

"On the house. Give my experiment a try. If you like it, tell your club; I can use the business. If you don't, do me a favor and let me know what will make it better."

He wordlessly stuffed the bill into the tip jar beside him, then picked up the cup and studied it.

She walked around the counter past him, stopping here and there to pick up the cups and plates clientele had left behind.

The biker's eyes followed her. He was a little taken aback that she'd left him standing near the till and the tip jar. Most people wouldn't do that. Either she was very trusting or very foolish, he wasn't sure which. Not that he had any intention of helping himself, but it seemed to him that she didn't care one way or the other.

A familiar tune issued from the speakers. He recognized John Mellencamp singing about being born and raised and living in a 'Small Town'. He'd heard the song before, it had come out many years earlier when the singer still had 'Cougar' as part of his stage name It was a song he liked as it made him think of Charming whenever he heard it.

The cup was a standard 'to go' coffee cup, with paw prints on it, and the words '_Charming Pawse_' written on it. The bottom of the cup, however, had a piece of paper covering it. He felt the paper, noticing that it peeled away to reveal an adhesive substance

"What the fuck?!?"

"Tsk-tsk" she remarked in response to his 'F bomb'. "Watch the language, please. I've found that 'frack' makes a good substitute when one is in mixed company."

Those customers that hadn't run off when the biker entered now wished they had. No one had _ever_ had the guts to take a Son to task about language! They prepared themselves for a nuclear explosion, but it never came.

"It's not quantum physics," she continued. "The adhesive is just like the stuff used on sticky notes. Peel off the paper, place the cup on the gas tank cap, hold it for about 10 seconds."

Her tone of voice wasn't patronizing or insulting. She remained easy going and friendly as she added, "It is easier to attach if the lid is already on the cup when it's placed on the bike. The adhesive doesn't hurt the chrome and should keep it steady until you get where you're going, or in your case, engage the throttle lock." She allowed a wry smile as she added "That is, just as long as you don't jack rabbit out of the starting block, or are taking it on a cross country run."

He gave her 'the look' again, apparently unconvinced.

"I've experimented on my ride. If it doesn't hurt my chrome, yours will be fine. Granted, my rice burner is nothing compared to your hog, but it's the best I have to offer at the moment. It's a work in progress."

The customers believed he was trying to intimidate the woman and they mentally cheered her on for holding her own.

They didn't know that he was actually giving her the once over.

She was probably as old as him, definitely older than he preferred if the grey in her hair was any indication. She was short, maybe a little over five foot in her stocking feet. Her green eyes, though hidden behind dark tinted lens were clear and bright. She wasn't skinny, but not fat. She knew how to talk to riders, and appreciated how they felt about their bikes

But it was her demeanor that captured his attention the most. She wasn't intimidated by him. She didn't allow his silences to unnerve her and she didn't chatter unnecessarily to fill those silences. Fact was, she was not nervous around him. Most women were, and for good reason.

When the Sons had learned about the potential new coffee shop, they took an interest. They didn't want big conglomerates taking root. He'd attended the council meetings and reported back to the club on her intentions. Once they were assured that she had no affiliation with a corporation, they club decided in favor of the shop and gave the green light to the board.

He'd found himself interested in the woman right away. She'd won the whole council and spectators over with her joke about tears. He noted that she still wore dark tinted glasses, long after the so-called pupil dilation. She'd been calm, confident, and presented her case to the council in an up front, no-nonsense manner. She knew what she wanted and went after it to make it happen.

Plus, she looked damn good in all black that night, just as she did standing in front of him. His curiosity had definitely been piqued from first sight.

That curiosity kept at him until he started riding by each day to check on progress. Even that wasn't enough, so he'd stop to watch from across the street. Until the day she'd marched out of her store to confront him. He'd ridden away that day before she'd gotten completely across the street. It wasn't fear of her that made him leave, just that he'd been caught.

It didn't stop him from continuing to watch from a little farther away. He had seen her 'rice burner' parked next to a red PT Cruiser at the house behind the shop. He'd also noticed she wasn't adverse to getting her hands dirty by picking up a hammer or lugging boxes on her own when necessary. It didn't escape him that she would often work on projects of her own for the store long after the workers had quit for the day.

What was most interesting was that she was a rider and bike owner. He'd see her ride all over town, her short salt and pepper hair ruffling in the breeze (he wondered if she owned a helmet). She always delivered a friendly 'thumbs up' sign to the Sons she passed on the street, including him. If she remembered that he was the rider she'd attempted to confront, she gave no indication of it.

It didn't seem to bother her that women didn't ride or own a bike in Charming. He had a feeling that she didn't give a damn whether she fit the norm or not. She followed her own lead and to Hell with the rest of the world.

His curiosity finally led him to check out the store, and he was beginning to feel a grudging respect for her. He'd expected the usual fear and animosity. Instead she'd treated him with friendly courtesy. That was an unusual experience for him.

He sniffed the steaming brew. The aroma was enticing. It was fresh, not like that gas station shit he was used to. That stuff often sat for God only knew how long before the counter people made a fresh batch. He took a sip. Damn good stuff.

He said so, but it sounded like he'd expected swill. He hefted the cup at her. "I'll let you know what I think."

"Please do,' she replied meeting his gaze. In the sunlight, those eyes were as green as emeralds.

"Come back anytime, sir. Maybe when you have time to hang around for a 'here'." That wayward eyebrow rose again at his reaction to her calling him "sir', as if he'd gotten a mild electrical jolt.

She disappeared through a side door, leaving him alone again with the front counter. He heard the sound of dishwashing. He turned around to look over the store, taking in all the work that had been done.

The Mellencamp CD ended and was replaced with vintage Bob Seger singing about life on the road. Woman had pretty good taste in music, none of that techno dance, hip-hop, rap or show tune stuff had come out of the speakers thus far. He liked the earlier rock and roll music and some country songs. Most of the stuff people listened to these days was just a lot of noise to him.

Ignoring the stares of the clients, he walked over to the cat window, gazing at the large black cat sleeping in the sun. Damn thing was as big as a small house, probably 20 pounds at least. The sapphire unblinking eyes of the Siamese on a shelf met his. He noticed a third cat, also black, but with one entirely blackened eye peeking out of the cat door at him.

His gaze caught a sign hanging over the counter. It read "In God We Trust. . .All Others Pay Cash". Underneath was scrawled in bold black ink "No Checks, No Credit or Debit Cards. No Kidding!." The tip jar also had a sign on it, a picture of the three cats from the window, with a cartoon speech bubble reading "Thanks for feeding the kitties!" attached above the picture.

He snapped the lid on the cup as the woman returned to the front. He watched her eyes sweep over his ride. He barely heard her awed whisper of 'Nice' as she wiped down tables with a damp cloth.

He walked over to where she was cleaning and stopped next to her. Sensing his presence, she looked up inquiringly.

"No one appears willing to make introductions," he stated, though he already knew her name. "My name is Tig. Tig Trager."

She held out her hand to him. "My name is Cat. Cat Marshall." Marshall was her maiden name. She hadn't legally changed her name, she just decided to use it when she moved.

He looked at the hand held out to him. Naturally it was smaller than his. There was a half moon scar on the index finger. His gaze moved along that hand, took in the indent on the third finger where a ring had been. He reached his hand out to enclose hers. Her grip surprised him because it was warm and firm. He also felt a tingle that went up his arm at her touch. Her grip was strong, but not an attempt to out do his. Nor did her handshake come off as a fake. It felt sincere, friendly, and inviting. A lot like her.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Trager," she added quietly. "I hope you'll come back again."

He inclined his head to her, released her hand and started toward the door. A sigh of relief swept through the store, but if Trager heard it, he ignored it.

She figured it was something an outlaw got used to, but _she_ didn't have to tolerate it. Not in her place.

"C'mon, y'all. He behaved better than a lot of so-called civilized people!" She glared at the customers, who hastily returned to their interrupted conversations or reading.

She watched Trager mount his bike and attach the 'to go' cup as instructed. The cup didn't spill over when he released it, and didn't come loose from the vibrations of the motor when he started the engine. He glanced over his shoulder, caught her eye, and nodded to her.

'Mr. Trager', he thought to himself, allowing the bike to idle for a few moments. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him as 'Mr. Trager', except in court where there was no respect in the use of the title.

To most residents of the town, he was known as a Son. To his brother club members, he was Tig. To the women he used and dropped he had no name.

Mister. A lot of meaning in that one small word. She didn't use it mockingly. She had manners, had obviously been taught things most people didn't seem to believe in these days. She had shown him the respect one human being shows another. It wasn't the fearful kind of respect he gained from being a Son and their Sergeant-at-Arms.

The throaty purr of the Harley gave way to a powerful roar as he gunned the engine, again deliberately testing the cup. It vibrated, but it held. He slid the bike into gear and pulled away. He'd definitely be back.

Days passed and Trager made reappearances. He never stayed around long enough for a 'here' beverage. He always asked for black coffee, and it was always as fresh as the very first cup he'd had.

He wondered how she could afford to keep the coffee so fresh, as throwing away old coffee would be expensive and wasteful. The answer was pretty obvious when he looked. She used what was called a 'brewstation', a coffee maker that required no carafe and kept coffee fresh for hours at a time. She also had a thermal pitcher to use in pouring refills of regular coffee. She carried it as she walked around the store to talk with the customers.

He was impressed by her ingenuity, as also evidenced by her bike cup. She was right. While one could ride one-handed with a throttle lock, two hands were needed to 'gear up'.

It fascinated him that she gave enough of a damn to try to do something for the biking community, even if it also benefitted her. Few others seemed to care about what bikers needed. It was definitely a work in progress, but damn if he could think of any way to make it 'better'.

He never said anything to her about the cup, except to keep getting 'to go' orders. When she wasn't watching, he would slip an extra bill in the tip jar. It was one way he could show his appreciation.

It soon became evident that her 'to go' cup had made news with the club, as she began to welcome other Sons as clients. None acted as intimidating as Trager, but the residents of the town definitely seemed guarded whenever a Son entered the store.

Cat refused to treat the Sons with any less respect than her other patrons. A customer was a customer unless someone behaved in an unruly manner. Then she could and did get tough.

She had one hard and fast rule that was religiously enforced:_ no one _disrespected another in her domain. She didn't care if it was a cop, a Son, or the mayor. She tolerated no bullying. Offenders were immediately banished. If her authority was questioned, she'd brandish her trusty baseball bat. Her lack of height would've been enough to make most bullies laugh at her. Her fierce determination coupled with the quiet menace in her voice and the expert way she brandished the bat was enough to make the miscreant peacefully leave the premises.

It came as no surprise to her that none of the Sons caused trouble. They respected her just as she respected them Though she was a lone wolf, they adopted a brotherly attitude towards her. Whenever someone attempted to make trouble in the store, any Sons present stood ready to provide backup. It was never needed. She was a force to be reckoned with when her temper was raised.

One of the Sons was Scottish by birth, known as Chibs. He came into the store one day with Trager, and when he learned she served English tea and home made scones, he was hooked. The tea at _Charming Pawse _was better than anything he'd had in town. Definitely much better than he could make. He'd tried store bought scones, but compared to those at the shop, they seemed to taste like cardboard and glue.

The coffee shop became a morning ritual for Chibs. He would always sit with his tea and scone in a corner near the cat window, reading a book or watching the cats. He felt drawn to the one eyed black cat that wou ld scamper away when he'd first sit down. The little cat would eventually return to the window. As he sipped his tea, he would idly dangle his fingers along the window. He'd grin when she would overcome her shyness to try to catch those 'pink mousies.'

After a few days of watching this by play, Cat remarked "You're welcome to go in there if you want. They don't mind. Misty might run away at first, but she seems to like you."

"How'd she come to get that name, Lady Cat?" He'd called her that the first day he'd visited, and she liked that, as her husband had often called her 'Miss Cat'.

Though that memory, too, caused a twinge of pain, she tried not to let it show. She accepted it as Chib's way of being courteous to her.

"We–I found her in the rain one day. She'd been abandoned by her mother, probably because she was sick. It wasn't a storm, just a gentle mist, and the name sort of stuck from there."

Chibs heard the quick correction, but he wasn't one to pry. Something bad had happened to Cat, and he knew the pain cut deep.

When he first called her 'Lady Cat', he'd noticed the quick tic to her cheek, as if he'd touched a nerve. Few people in Charming were willing to be genuinely friendly to Sons, so he wasn't about to rock the boat by sticking his nose where it wasn't needed.

"She's a verra special little thing, then."

"She is. She's not one to make friends easy, but she has certainly taken to you."

Cat's mind flashed to the evening her husband had placed the wet and frightened little ball of fur in her arms. They had worked together to save the kitten's life, and had been rewarded with the unconditional love that only a pet could give.

Chibs began to spend some time in the cat area with Misty. Outlaw that he was, he had a heart, and the skittish little cat grew to enjoy his company. He was the only customer she would allow to pet her. When customers noticed the rider with the cat, they began to be more welcoming of the Sons presence in the store.

A bright sunny weekend off beckoned to Cat. After she'd spent time with her pets, she eagerly packed her bike for a long ride. In her haste, she didn't check over the bike as was her habit. She didn't see that the back tire needed tending.

She set out along US 221, just taking the road where it led. She rode a few miles off the main road, following country roads wherever they led, and decided after a leisurely lunch by a lake to head back to town. Once back on the highway, her ride was interrupted by a loud explosion from the back of the bike, followed by a bone jarring thumping of a flat tire.

"Damn!" She skillfully brought the bike to a safe stop, pushed it onto the center stand. She glared angrily at the offending tire, giving it her version of 'the look." The tire remained unfazed and flat as a pancake.

'The problem with bikes is you can't carry a spare,' she thought to herself, reaching into the trunk for a can of fix a flat, intending to pump the canister in the tire and limp back home. The tire had other ideas, as the filler shot out of a rather large hole in the side of the tire.

"Shit fire!" She recapped the can of fixative and stood up, glaring at the heavens above. Blue sky, sun and a few puffy clouds met her gaze, but no help was found in the heavens.

OK, just call back to town and get a tow. That's what cell phones were for. But another unpleasant discovery awaited her. When she checked the trunk, her cell phone wasn't there. Two bottles of lukewarm water and her tool kit were nestled inside , but no cell phone. She checked all her pockets. Wallet, coins, her pocket knife, a forgotten and very flattened cigarillo in a pocket, but still no cell phone.

"Oh, damn it to HELL!" Her angry shout rousted a few resting birds from their perch on the telephone wires, but didn't do anything to solve her problem or make her feel better. Even the presence of telephone wires overhead weren't very reassuring. Though she knew she could make an emergency call from any outside house phone box, she couldn't recall having passed a house for many miles.

There was nothing else she could do but start pushing the bike. It would take many hours to walk it back to Charming. She secured her helmet to the bike, slipped the gear into neutral, and started pushing. It wasn't the first time she'd had a breakdown on the road, and had to push a disabled bike. Having a bad tire made the work doubly hard, and she wasn't sure which was worse, a bad front or rear tire.

She _could _leave the bike at the side of the road and make faster time without it, but she loathed that idea. Past experience had taught her that it might not be where she left it when she returned with a tow truck. She didn't have a lot of money to throw away on the chance of losing her toy, insurance or not, so on she trudged.

Once in awhile, a car would pass by, and she attempted to flag the driver down for help, but no one would stop, the sight of the motorcycle caused them to speed past her. She tried to look more inviting by removing her leather jacket and her sunglasses, but no one stopped.

'Damn prejudices against bikers! One bad apple doesn't spoil the barrel, people!" She grumbled to herself. She cast blame on one of the most notorious outlaw biker gangs in California history for making her situation more difficult.

Maybe,' she thought to herself, 'they'll send someone back," As time passed and no help came, she gave up on that idea. She kept trudging along, stopping once in a while for a drink of water.

The sun beat mercilessly on her, making her sensitive eyes hurt. It also brought on the start of a major migraine, but she kept pushing forward. Time passed, the odometer on her bike had shown she'd pushed at least 5 miles. Her head was pounding like a Native American war drum sending a battle message. The pain made her turn off the stereo, but the keys still dangled from the ignition.

She was on the verge of giving up when she heard the welcome roar of a Harley engine in the distance. She wasn't wearing colors, but she knew no biker would leave another stranded. At last someone would get word to a tow truck, and she could rest while she waited.

She pushed the bike onto the center stand and slid to the ground as the engine roared closer. Whether the rider spoke to her or just acknowledged her trouble and went on, she wasn't going to be able to go any further.

She heard the engine stop and looked up, shading her eyes against the sun. The rider had the sun to his back, but she could make out the front of the vest. It belonged to one of the Sons.

Trager had gone by both the coffee house and Cat's house as usual only to find that the 'rice burner' was gone. Cat was out somewhere. It seemed to be a habit on weekends. He'd been riding for hours trying to locate her with no success. Whenever she went on one of those rides, he usually was able to find her and follow from a discreet distance, just to make sure no one hassled her.

Bikers had a tendency to look out for one another on the road, but Cat was still new to the area, and might get into trouble with a Mayan or Nord - rival gangs - without intending to. Trager told himself it was just part of his job to watch the back of someone the Sons considered a friend. She was a lone wolf and back up could be helpful.

After riding in several directions with no success, he finally had to admit that she'd managed to stump him royally. He took pride in his ability to track people, but this chick was damn good at evading him. He was on his way back to Charming when he spied a black Yamaha at the side of the road, it's back end lower than the front.

As he pulled up behind it, he saw Cat sitting in the small amount of shade the bike provided.

"Got some trouble," he stated flatly, dismounting from the bike. His voice was a low growl to hide his concern.

"Damn tire blew, the filler came out through a bloody hole in the side, _and_ I left my frackin' cell phone back home. So I guess you could call it trouble. Could you send a tow back this way?"

Trager used the sun at his back to his advantage to study her closely. Though she'd put her jacket back on, her hair was dripping wet from sweat and her face was a vivid, deep red from sunburn. Obviously, she'd been pushing the disabled bike for some time. What concerned him more was the way she was talking, as if she were in some kind of severe pain. There was no way he was going to leave her sitting by the side of the road.

"I'll take you back to town, " Trager announced. "It's getting late. Not a good time for a lady to be out on her own, even if she is a savvy rider. It gets cold quick out here. It's not safe."

"I'm not leaving my bike for some asshole to help themselves to, Mr. Trager," Cat replied. "Besides, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she pointed to the knife sticking out of her boot.

His glance took in the little boot knife and mentally compared it to his own blade. He had to work to keep from laughing at the thought of her little potato peeler going against a would be attacker. Instead, he squatted down so that he was on a level with the disheveled, pain-filled woman.

"I know you can take care of yourself, but it's still not safe for you. Get your helmet and get on my bike Yours will still be here when the truck comes for it."

"Yeah, right," she sneered, not caring that she was being uncooperative with a Son. She was tired, in pain, and at the moment didn't care if she sounded like a snot nosed brat. "Do you have a cell with you? I'll just call for a tow and you can go on you way."

Trager snorted in exasperation. "Cell phones don't work out here. Dead zone. Don't argue with me. Get your helmet and get on the back of the bike."

She glared at him. She _really_ wasn't up to this. "You don't understand, Mr. Trager."

He wasn't used to having his authority questioned. "I **understand **that you're going to do what I tell you " He rose, grasping her gloved hands with his and pulling her to her feet.

She stifled a yelp of pain from being forced to get up so quickly. She was nearly blinded by the force of the headache. Why couldn't he just leave her and get help?

He handed her helmet to her and practically dragged her to the back of his bike. Since his back was to her, he didn't see her pain filled grimace. He mounted, then glared at her as she continued to stand beside the bike in silent mutiny

"**Now**," he ordered, starting the bike and putting the gear in neutral, holding the bike steady so she could mount behind him.

She glared at him, her eyes blazing fire. The noise of the engine made further comment impossible for her. She struggled into her helmet, hissing when the straps touched her sunburned skin, and clumsily mounted behind Trager, grasping the bar behind her.

His rolled his eyes to the heavens in an appeal for patience, though he had to admire her attempt to be independent. He could tell that she was too weak to hold on to the small bar behind her for any length of time. Hell, she'd fall off before they'd get a mile. He reached behind and pulled her arms around him, bringing her hands together against his chest.

Cat knew many riders didn't like to be held onto. It always rattled her the few times she'd taken riders, so she tried to move her arms back behind her. Trager held her arms to his side with his elbows, indicating with his body language that her arms should stay where they were. Her fingers closed into the leather vest. She leaned against his back, as there was no trunk or back rest. He put his bike in gear and they roared off.

"It won't take long to get back to Charming. I'll get the bike myself if it makes you feel any better," Trager called back to her.

Cat held up one thumb in a gesture of acceptance, not caring if he considered her use of digital communications rude.

The roar of the engine and her headache lulled her to sleep. Trager felt her body relax against his and raised a hand to check her hold. He found her fingers were still locked into his vest, holding on as if for dear life.

He could feel her even breathing as she slept. He liked how she felt against him. She might be older than he preferred, but she had a lot going for her, and she fit quite nicely against his back.

When he'd decided to take her back to town, he'd considered setting her in front of him. He was glad he hadn't followed through on that thought. If what he felt against his back was any indication, there would've been a little _too_ much temptation to contend with. Best to keep one's mind on business when riding.

He pulled in the drive to Cat's house, parking next to the PT and killed the engine. She didn't stir. Trager glanced back to see that she was still asleep, her head turned to one side, pillowed against his back. Not an unpleasant feeling to have her arms wrapped around him, even if those arms had been reluctant. However, it wasn't the most comfortable place to sit for it, either.

Whenever he woke a woman, it was just a shove or push, nothing gentle about it. He wanted them up and gone. This was different. He wasn't one for chivalry, but he could try to be gentle. He shifted his back from side to side, trying to rouse her that way. It didn't work.

He disengaged her hands from his vest and slid under her arms. He used one hand to hold her steady while he dismounted from the bike, using the other hand to remove his helmet. Using his body to support her, he carefully removed Cat's helmet. He felt concerned by the heat from her sunburn. He figured having the straps off her face would be more comfortable, and she'd hear him easier without it.

With the weight of the helmet removed, her head slumped against his chest. Her eyes were still closed. His heartbeat stuttered as she rested against him. It felt to him as if she belonged there.

He shook her shoulder. "Hey, wake up. You're home."

She opened one eye to focus on her surroundings and looked to her side at his face. He was still wearing his sunglasses, though the sun was setting. Her eyes squinted shut against the raging pain in her head.

"Sure, um, ok." Her limbs felt heavy as lead. She tried to dismount and nearly fell, had Trager not been quick enough to catch her.

Half carrying, half supporting her, he led her to the door. "Where's your keys?"

She frowned in concentration. Keys? What keys? Oh, yeah, the keys. Where were they? Still fuzzy headed, she patted her pockets, then remembered that her keys, including the house key, were in the ignition of her bike.

"You're going to think I'm a real idiot. My keys are with the bike!" She was quite embarrassed. Her head was killing her and to make things worse, she felt tears slide down her cheeks. "Dammit all! I'm NOT going to be a bawl baby!" She wailed.

Trager refrained from grinning, but it was difficult. She looked much more like an endearing, worn out little girl instead of a self-assured business woman at that moment. For some unfathomable reason, he wasn't annoyed at her for forgetting the keys, but that could be a problem.

He checked around the porch, but no hidden key was found. It would figure that she wouldn't be the type to leave a spare key hidden when she wouldn't leave her bike beside the road.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"Prospect, get the truck, go out on 221 a few miles. You'll find Cat's black 750 Yamaha. She had a flat. Bring the bike in and bring the keys to her shop." He flipped the phone closed, knowing Prospect would take care of business.

Despite her pain, Cat knew that Trager had gone out of his way to help. She didn't want to be a bother to him. She needed to cut him loose. She gathered the remnants of her dignity about her as she addressed the biker.

"Look, Mr. Trager. I appreciate the ride, but you don't have to hang around here. I'm sure you've got better things to do then babysit me."

Trager glanced over his sunglasses at the woman sitting on the chair next to him. She squinted back at him in defiance.

"Don't use that look on me, I've used it myself on my...on others, " she stated. "It doesn't scare me."

Most women would be whining, complaining and being a general pain in the ass in a similar situation, even if they brought it on themselves. Not this one. Instead of complaining, she was telling him, nicely, to hit the road!

He removed his shades for the first time in her presence. "I don't think **anything** scares you."

"You'd be surprised," she replied. "But really, sir, you've done more than most would've done. I'll be fine once that Prospect fella gets the keys here."

Even as she spoke, the stress of the day was catching up with her, as was the sunburn and her headache. A wave of nausea sent tremors over her, and she leaned forward, putting her head on her knees. "Damn," she whispered. "It hurts!"

"I'm not leaving, you have no where to go, so I guess we're stuck for awhile. The least I can do is get you comfortable," he stated. He stood up, reached into a pocket and drew out a file. Without asking permission, he quickly jimmied the lock, then picked her up, ignoring her groans of protest. He carried her into the house, flipping on the overhead light switch next to the door. Using his foot to shut the door, he carried her to the couch and lowered her to it.

He ignored the cats as he looked for something that could cover the shivering woman. The house was Spartan in furnishings but comfortable. There were no frilly female decorations, just a few framed movie posters, paintings, and some portraits. But there were no blankets or Afghans covering the furniture that he could use to cover her.

He considered calling Gemma or Donna, the only women he knew with any sense and that he could tolerate. But no, it wouldn't be fair to them or to Cat to have people she didn't know well in her home when she was ill. Hell, come to think of it, she didn't know **him** that well, either. But where he was concerned, she had little choice in the matter. He might be a hard ass, but he wasn't mean enough to leave someone out in the elements when that someone was ill. She'd been too decent to him to be treated in such a manner. And Clay wouldn't stand for it. None of the Sons would.

He opened the closet, only to find a few coats and jackets, another helmet, and her black hat. No blankets. Ok, if there was one place where there was sure to be a blanket, it would be the bedroom. He found it after looking into two other rooms, as the doors to the rooms were closed. One opened to a well stocked library full of books, DVDs, and video tapes. A rocking chair occupied the center of the room, but there was no blanket on it.

The other door opened into a music room. It was stocked with cassette tapes, CDs, and several shelves of vinyl albums. A music stand, electric keyboard, and a guitar were also present, but no blankets. The walls were adorned with framed posters of Mellencamp, several photos of a man in black wearing a half mask on his face, and several more of the group KISS, two of which were autographed.

Finally, Trager found the bedroom. It was neat but nothing to indicate that the inhabitant was female, except for the two large, framed posters hanging above the television set. One was for the movie '_The Phantom of the Opera_', the other was from '_300_', both starred some Scottish actor that women swooned over. He couldn't remember the actor's name until he saw the framed letter and signed photo between the posters. Oh yeah, _that _guy.

He pulled the bedspread from the bed and walked towards the adjoining bath, looking for some kind of lotion or cream for the sunburn.

His gaze took in a silver framed picture next to the bed on the table. Cat was wearing a wedding dress. Standing next to her was a dark haired man of slight build. They were holding hands and smiling. She looked pretty young in that picture, her hair was dark and there was more weight on her. Draped over the picture was a chain holding a diamond ring and a plain gold band.

He felt vaguely uncomfortable staring at the picture, as if he were treading on something sacred. He stepped through to the adjoining bathroom and found a bottle of lotion for the sunburn, and wet a cloth with water.

Trager returned to the sofa to find that Cat was asleep, but still shivering. Two of the cats had settled on the back of the couch, green and blue eyes glaring at him. Two tails - one black and fluffy, the other dark brown and thin - twitched nervously.

"Relax," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt her." He reached out and brushed his hand along her hair, which felt like silk. .A little damp, maybe, but silk none the less. He repeated the gesture, enjoying the feel of her hair against his hand. Then his hand brushed her cheek. The skin was very hot, but soft. He carefully removed her glasses and laid them on the coffee table.

He eased Cat forward, holding her against him long enough to remove her jacket. He liked the way she fit against his shoulder, as if she were meant to rest there.

Once the jacket was removed, he saw that her arms where as badly burned as her face. The lotion he'd found wasn't anything fancy, just a regular name brand. The label indicated it was a healing lotion with aloe vera, which he knew was good for sunburn.

He applied a liberal dollop to both cheeks and arms, carefully smoothing the lotion over the afflicted skin, which immediately absorbed it. He applied a second layer, and was relieved to feel that the heat from the burn was beginning to diminish.

As he doctored the sunburn, he noticed a long, vivid scar on her neck. It was very old, easy to tell that a knife had caused it. He traced it with his finger. It had been a deep wound. A flash of anger filled him at the idea of anyone having hurt her that way.

He picked up the jacket he'd tossed aside and heard a crinkling sound issuing from it. He checked the pockets, his fingers locating the old and much crumpled cigarillo. He smiled at the discovery. Fascinating woman. He absently pocketed the little cigar, and hung her jacket in the closet.

He returned to the sofa and covered her with the bedspread. Cat stretched, yawned, and burrowed under it. A sigh of contentment issued from her lips when he put the cool cloth on her forehead. She'd sleep for awhile. He decided he'd wait outside for Prospect. He needed a smoke, and there were no ashtrays in the house

Once outside, Trager pulled out his cell to call Prospect. He learned the youngster had found the motorcycle and was en route back to Charming.

"Bring the bike to the shop. We'll fix it there."

He walked his bike to the street, started it and rode to Teller-Morrow, the garage where he worked. He'd decided to replace the tire, have Half Sack bring the bike back, and then properly secure the house. He didn't know why he felt the need to do this, but he trusted his instincts.

He met Half Sack at the shop, and went about the process of replacing both tires with new. It didn't take long, and he made sure that the tires were of superior quality.

The odometer for the Yamaha read only 2000 miles, so why had the tire failed? He examined the back tire and found the hole Cat had mentioned. Both tires were old, made to look new with black paint.

She seemed pretty knowledgeable about things. It just didn't make sense that she'd buy a new bike with used tires. He checked the registration and noted the name of the seller. It was a local that the mechanics had battled before. He had a reputation for selling crappy merchandise to residents of Charming.

Trager gave the bike a thorough going over, to make sure there were no other nasty 'surprises' lying in wait. Except for a few minor problems that were easily fixed, the bike was clear of defects, and the odometer had not been tampered with.

Once the repairs were complete, he stuffed some bills into an envelope, leaving the envelope with a note explaining what it was for in the office.

He followed Half Sack back to Cat's house, secured the bike and sent the youngster on his way. Trager then used the keys to reenter the house.

He checked on her, she was still sleeping. He was relieved to see the sunburn was much improved. He applied another coat of lotion to the burned areas, and then sat in a recliner across the room, wondering why he felt so protective of her. This wasn't the same feeling he had for his daughters. Definitely nothing he'd ever felt for their mother. Nothing he'd felt for any woman he'd spent _any_ time with, as a matter of fact.

He recalled everything he knew about sunburn and sunstroke. She didn't seem feverish or delirious. In fact, she was sleeping pretty soundly. He really didn't need to keep watch over her, though he seriously considered it.

But no, she'd gone through enough for the day. She might be pretty embarrassed to wake up and find him sitting in her front room. She'd pretty much told him to hit the road, so maybe it was a good idea to give in. This time

He put the keys on the hook near the door where he knew Cat would see them, then left, locking the door securely behind him.

Hours later, Cat awoke with a start to find herself laying on her sofa, the bedspread covering her. Her cats stirred, sleepily reminding her that they were hungry. She remembered how she'd gotten home with Trager's help.

As she took care of the cats and prepared to retire, she thought of her bike and keys. She checked outside, to find her bike parked next to the car, the tire fixed. Her keys were hanging on the hook next to the door. She secured the deadbolt and went to bed.

The next day, she was stiff and sore, but none the worse for wear. She mentioned the incident to Chibs when he came in for his tea and scone. Had her face not been red from sunburn, she knew she'd be blushing over getting herself in such a mess.

"I feel like a real idiot for getting in such a fix in the first place, " she added, "I hope Mr. Trager wasn't inconvenienced by my stupidity."

Chibs grinned at the reference to 'Mr. Trager.' Trust Lady Cat to see well in the Devil himself, he thought. "I doubt Tig thinks yer stoopid. As far as inconvenienced, Tig never lets himself 'get' that way. He helped a friend, that's all. Fergit it."

"If you say so," Cat replied. "At the least, I need to pay for the tire and the tow."

"If ye don't get into another situation like that in the future, that'll be repayment enough."

Cat didn't see it that way. She asked about the repair bill when Gemma, who ran the office for Teller Morrow came in later that day.

Gemma was also married to the president of the motorcycle club. She'd heard of the coffee shop from the riders, had checked it out, and found herself hooked on the coffee.

"Tig took care of it," Gemma replied. "You don't owe us. Take it up with Tig."

"I would, if I knew how to contact him," Cat replied. "It s not like I have his phone number or know his address."

"Then take my advice, don't worry about it unless he does."

"I'd at least like to say thanks."

"You'll get your chance, when he's ready."

Cat's eyes flashed. "That's not my idea of saying thank you!'

"Nobody's saying you have to, " Gemma shot back. "Not everything the Sons do revolves around getting sex, Cat. You've still got a lot to learn about us. I meant that when Tig comes around, you can tell him yourself."

Cat flushed. "No offense meant. Back where I come from - well - people take advantage."

"It's different here."

She had tried to write an appropriate thank you note, and debated about putting the reimbursement to the letter. Everything she wrote didn't seem satisfactory, and wound up in the trash.

She did some internet research in order to price the brand of tires and labor. She figured a little extra for time and trouble, and put some cash in an envelope. She planned to give it to him the next time he came in for coffee and be done with it.

He didn't come in for his coffee that day, or the entire week.

Trager shut the front door to Cat's house and stood on the porch. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

He was still debating whether he should take her at her word and leave, or stay in case she had a relapse. Whatever had made her so sick wasn't the sunburn. He thought of how she'd fallen asleep on the bike and how good she felt against his back. He'd enjoyed that and having her arms around him as well as carrying her into her house.

There was a part of him that had wanted to take her, right there where she lay. She wasn't any innocent; she'd obviously been married before. Had she not been in so much pain, he would've done so. He couldn't understand why he felt it necessary to show such mercy to her. It certainly wouldn't have mattered if any other woman was hurting. Why should he treat her any different?

Maybe it was because _she _was different from other women. She'd been the first person in Charming not to immediately treat him like a thug. She'd been _nice_ to him of all things. She was a decent person. Even kind. It was something that he wasn't used to.

From the moment he'd first spotted her at the zoning meeting, he'd felt an undeniable attraction. He'd been acting like a kid with a crush ever since. He could try to bullshit himself that it was his job to look after a friend of the club, but he knew that wasn't really the case. He liked Cat. He liked her a lot and that wasn't a good thing for her. The best thing he could for her would be to stay away from now on. People like her didn't associate with people like him.

His was a violent life. There wasn't time or room for much else, including his daughters. He paid support for them, but he rarely saw them. That way they couldn't be used as tools against him. Besides, as far as he was concerned, women were sex objects. Something to be used and tossed aside for the next one that came along.

He'd engaged in all manner of violent deeds and performed deviant sex acts for years. He didn't really mind it, being known as a bit of a pervert was something he wore like a badge of honor.

He took a deep drag on the cigarette then blew the smoke back out. There were no answers to be found in the smoke.

He stared through the front window at the peaceful form on the couch. All three cats were curled up with her, the smaller black cat snuggled near her side. A picture flashed in his mind of him laying stretched out next to her. The idea wasn't unpleasant, but there was no use to entertain such thoughts.

The only good answer was to get on his Harley and ride away, never to look back. There was something about Cat that shook him to the core of his soul. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone to have that kind of power over him, even if that person didn't know they possessed it.

He walked to his bike and pushed it to the street. He started the engine and pulled away, casting one last glance back at the house. He managed to stay away the entire week but it pained him to do so and not because of caffeine withdrawal.

The following Saturday, instead of taking the bike out, Cat opted to stay home. The weekend before had tired her out, as had the week's work.

She was surprised to hear a Harley pull into her drive. None of the Sons had ever shown up at her house before. Curious, she opened the door before the bell rang to find Trager at her door

"Mr. Trager. Hello."

"I would think that after last week, you would call me Tig," he replied. He'd heard that the sunburn had turned to a golden brown. He was pleased to see there was no blister or peeling.

"Yes, sure. Tig." She felt her face turn hot. For the first time she felt a little ill at ease with the biker.

But she opened the door wider, "Would you like to come in? It's a little more comfortable than standing on the porch."

His eyes continued to bore into hers, did the man ever blink? "Maybe you'd be more at ease if we sat outside" he replied.

"Whatever." She grabbed her jacket from the closet and stepped out on the porch. "Seems to me a little late to worry about propriety"

She indicated a pair of chairs on the porch, settling herself in one. "I've been wanting to thank you for the help last weekend. You're not in the phone book."

"I just use the cell when it's necessary," he replied, leaning against the porch railing. "How's the bike?"

"It's fine. That fella you call Prospect did a good job with the tow. Not a scratch on Blackie 2. Those tires didn't come cheap. What do I owe you?"

"You don't. Just don't get yourself caught out like that again. The Sons aren't always out and about." He added to himself, "_**I **_might not be around the next time".

"Mr. . .Tig, I don't want to be an asshole, but I'm not a charity case, either. I pay my way. I can't just let you pay for my screw up."

She held out the envelope she'd been keeping in her jacket. He didn't have to ask what it was. Trager's eyes bored into hers, but not with anger. He knew she was proud, and insisted on doing things her way, on her terms. She was the type that didn't like being in debt. He imagined the man in that picture probably had one Hell of a time in dealing with her. He envied that man, having _had_ the opportunity to catch Hell from her on a daily basis..

"You don't owe me a dime. Your money doesn't matter. **You** matter." He voice was matter of fact, as if he were talking about the weather. "You're the only other woman in this town who doesn't fear me on sight. I want to know why."

The question caught her off guard. Why didn't she fear him? God knows, Trager had done everything he could to be menacing from day one, and it rolled off her like water off a duck's back. She probably should be afraid, if town gossip was any indication. But _he'd_ never given her a reason to feel afraid. Discomforted, yes; afraid, no.

"Because you've done nothing to_ make_ me fear you," she finally replied. "You give off this aura of menace, but that doesn't mean I automatically think the worst of you. Just because you're in a motorcycle club doesn't mean you don't deserve to be treated with respect."

Trager watched her intently as she spoke, listening for any nuance in her voice that would belie her words. She was being honest with him, even if she was searching for the right words to convey her feelings. Didn't she know what he really was? Surely the customers had talked! Was this some kind of hero worship she was giving him? Or did she think he was some kind of misunderstood anti-hero like that Phantom character?

He'd used one of the clubhouse computers to pull information on the _Phantom of the Opera. _There was a lot of it, but he narrowed it down to that poster he'd seen. If she thought that he was anything like that character, she had a lot to learn.

"I've done some things that aren't very nice to women, men and animals. Lots of people call me a criminal. That doesn't scare you?"

"Should it?" she replied. She wasn't sure where this conversation was leading, much less how it had taken such a strange turn.

"You can do my 'look', like you're doing now," she continued. "There's plenty of people who stare like that. You say you've done some not so nice things. That's supposed to make you some kind of ogre?" She held her hands up in a kind of supplication. "What brings all this kind of talk on, anyway? All I wanted to do was thank you for your help last weekend, for cryin' out loud!"

Trager crossed to her chair in a fluid motion and placed his hands on both arms of it, effectively trapping her. He leaned down, bringing his face on a level with hers. His mouth ground onto hers in a kiss that was rough and invasive. It caught her unprepared. With his hands on either side of her and the chair at her back, she couldn't escape his mouth, lips and tongue. The kiss told her that he was barely keeping control of himself. It spoke to her of power barely contained, a kiss that took her breath away.

His breathing was harsh and ragged when he eventually released her. He waited for her to react, maybe to slap him. She remained motionless.

"I wanted to do that last week. There's lots of things I _could've_ done and didn't," he whispered hoarsely.

"God knows I could've taken what I wanted from you just like I have from other women. What_ is_ it about you that I don't wantto treat you like that?"

She didn't have an answer for him. She wasn't sure he was asking her these questions anyway, or that he expected an answer from her. She looked down to the hands on either side of her, still imprisoning her in her chair. His hands were white and shaking from the grip he was applying to the chair arms.

"I don't know how to answer you," she replied quietly, still breathless from the punishing kiss he'd given her. "You certainly have the ability to do what you want." She brought her hands up from her lap to rest them hands lightly on top of his. "I'd like to think that you wouldn't be _that_ cruel. You could take what you wanted from me, but you'd lose my respect in the end. You might even earn my fear. Is that what you want?"

"It should be," he growled. "It's not."

He brought his hands up to her face, carefully framing it in his hands. She felt a shock through her entire body from his touch.

"People in this town fear me. You don't. You should stay away from me."

"That's not hard to do when I don't know where you stay. _You're_ the one who usually shows up at my door, one or the other." she said softly.

She felt heat radiating from him like a sun going supernova. If he lost control, she knew there would be little she could do to protect herself.

Trager shuddered, then released his hold on the chair. He turned away, walked to his bike and mounted it. He gazed at her, slipped on his shades, started the bike and backed it from her drive. Within seconds, he was gone. The Harley's engine howling like a wounded banshee.

The tachometer on Trager's machine sailed past the red line. The engine screamed in protest, but he didn't let up on the throttle.

It was Saturday. Most of Charming's streets were quiet as he tore through the center of the town.

The speed of the ride and the force of the wind did nothing to calm him. The heat radiating from him wasn't anger, it was need. Somehow, that woman had gotten to him in a way no woman had been able to.

That was why he'd stayed away from the shop for the last week. He'd hoped that putting physical distance between them would make it possible for him to get her out of his mind. It didn't work. He just wanted to be with all the more.

What was it about Cat that made him want to possess her in a way he'd never wanted any other woman?

She never spoke about her past, but from the picture he'd seen, he didn't believe it had been an unhappy one. Yet, he sensed an air of sadness about her that made him want to protect her.

He shook his head, easing up on the throttle of his bike. Chibs called her Lady Cat, and she was certainly that. A lady with balls of steel.

There had been times in the past when he'd allowed himself to consider letting a woman get close to him. Admittedly, he had trouble tolerating women. They tended to get grabby and needy and wanted more from him than he was willing to give. Most of the women he met through the club weren't the kind that made a long term relationship possible. Then, there were some women who married into the club and fought it and their man's involvement.

Opie Winston was an example. He had been getting that kind of shit from his wife, Donna, since he got out of jail. Opie had tried to go 'straight' but walking the line didn't always pay the bills. Though Donna was refusing to have anything to do with the club, Opie seemed to think she'd come back around.

When Trager considered what Opie and Clay had - and even brothers like Bobby and Piney who had been married and divorced - he felt like he was missing something. The only problem was that he'd never come close to finding a way to fill that void. If the mother of his children couldn't do it, who could?

Whenever Trager attended dinners at the Morrow's, he'd watched how close and attuned they were to each. He would fantasize about what it would be like to have a woman as attuned to him.

Gemma had been part of the club from the beginning, when John Teller and Piney started it. Face it, there weren't many women like Gemma in the world who could deal with the club. He thought about his lifestyle and how it meant he was alone much of the time. Alone except for the club.

Was that all there was to look forward to in life? Was he meant to _never _have a chance to be close to someone who was decent, even kind? Could it be possible that Cat was the one who could _finally_ bring a bright spot to his otherwise dark life? She was kind, but she had fire. She was definitely too damn decent for him.

He considered that kiss. He hadn't planned it. It just happened and he'd enjoyed it. She seemed to enjoy it, too. At least once she got over the surprise. She didn't reject him, didn't shy away from him, and didn't slap the taste out of his mouth when it ended. He knew his sudden action had caught her off guard. He'd wanted to do much more, but controlled himself. He wanted more from her than a casual fuck, but did she want _anything _from him?

Cat watched Trager stride to his bike, his kiss still burning her lips. The man moved with the grace and speed of a panther. He was strong as one too, and dangerous. She could feel his want and need for her in that kiss and in the way his hands had clenched the sides of her chair. She'd felt more than a physical urge from him in that kiss. As thorough and rough as it was, it felt like his soul was calling out to her.

Was that what it was about Trager that attracted her, even moved her? He was nothing like her husband. In fact, he was the complete opposite. Where Bill had been quiet and gentle, Trager was like a volcano ready to erupt. He exuded power and menace where Bill had been a steady presence. Had she become jaded and banal in the last year? Was she reverting to that stage in her life where she was attracted by the fact that he was a 'bad boy'?

She heard the bike engine screaming in the distance, echoing the screams in her heart. No, that wasn't it. She'd been with so called 'bad boys' before Bill. She knew what she felt wasn't the thrill of forbidden fruit. Hell, she was too old for that kind of thing.

She slipped into the house, petted her large black cat, Ebony as he tried to get past her into the front yard. It was a constant game he played with her. The minute he heard the door, he'd try to get out. He was always unsuccessful, but it didn't stop him from trying. It got him a little attention, and that was the ultimate goal

She walked into the office where she kept her photo albums and sat in the recliner. She idly flipped through pages that recalled different things from her life before and after Bill. Her early adult life had been pretty groundless, drifting from town to town and job to job just like the theme song from WKRP.

She'd studied broadcasting and journalism in college instead of music. After graduation, she'd spent a few years working as a deejay and news reporter. She left the business because of all the moving and the uncertainty of work based on ratings, revenue, and formats. From there, she worked in advertising and telecommunications of all kinds.

She grew up as a preacher's kid, and lived up to the stereotype that PK's were wild children. While not a complete discipline problem, Cat had gotten into situations that were sometimes emotionally detrimental to her. As she grew older, she'd learned from those episodes, both about herself, and about people and how she related to them. Most of the time, she found it easier to be alone as there was less chance of getting hurt.

Then she met Bill. He was quiet, thoughtful, disciplined, and kind. He was always there for her whenever she needed a friend, especially when she got into disastrous relationships with other men. When she'd been stranded at work by her then-boyfriend, he had given her a ride home. Their friendship began that day and led to their marriage 12 years later. A marriage that lasted until its' sudden and brutal end.

When he died, she didn't expect to ever care for someone as much again. Then that black haired rider walked into her shop and her life. She realized that Trager was the same rider who had ridden by the store all those times before it opened. The very one who rode away when she attempted to confront him. Had he been interested in her _that _long ago?

As far as sex was concerned, she had known other men, but not many. She could count the number she'd been intimate with on the fingers of one hand with fingers left over, including Bill. She wasn't one to have casual relations with just anyone. To her, it was an act of giving. She had to feel more than the need to satisfy an itch.

Her memories touched on another biker she'd loved while in college. He was a biker without any club affiliations. He also had an evil soul. Though she loved him, he didn't return it. Instead, he'd pretended in order to get his hands on her money. She'd been left a small inheritance by her grandmother. Cory stayed around until he'd gone through the money. Once it was gone, he disappeared with another woman. He left her with a mountain of debt and a broken heart.

She knew Trager wasn't after her money. He could, however, cause her a great deal of emotional heartache, just because of the type of life he lived. Did she really want to open herself up to the possibility of losing someone she cared for again? That could easily happen if she followed this particular path.

She had no interest in the outlaw biker lifestyle, which was what the Sons undeniably were. It held no grandeur to her. She'd heard all the stories about outlaw bikers, not to mention all the movies and tv shows about outlaws. She considered the Sons who came to her shop as friends. She didn't want to compromise that by having to witness their dark side.

By getting involved with Trager, she'd be exposed to that dark side time after time. If she accepted the man, she'd have to accept the club, and she wasn't sure that was possible for her.

There was no doubt that Tig was attracted to her. She felt that same attraction. Hers went beyond a need for physical satisfaction. There was that loneliness that she sensed underneath his aloof exterior that very first day. Maybe that was why she'd let herself relax with him last week. She had no reason to trust him but she had no reason not to.

She recalled waking to her darkened home the week before, covered in her bedspread. She knew he'd taken care of her, made her comfortable, and hadn't taken advantage of the situation. She didn't hold any ideas that he was some motorcycle riding knight in tarnished armor. He said he'd done some pretty rotten things and she should stay away from him.

Did she want to? The answer was no. But despite that loneliness she sensed in him, she wasn't the type to settle for 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am'. He just didn't seem to be the type to settle with anyone for any length of time.

She needed to talk to someone, get a little perspective. She considered calling her best friend in Florida, as she owed her friend a call. They usually chatted weekly about life, holding what they laughingly called 'cawfee church'. It was a tradition they had started years ago, and continued via phone when her friend moved from Indiana.

Her friend would quickly catch on to Cat's need to work through the issue. June had been around to help her pick up the pieces when Cory had shattered her heart. And that was the problem. She would find this far too similar to the other biker they'd known. Cat knew her friend would be justifiably concerned. June might have difficulty looking at the situation with any objectivity. She would only worry about Cat's welfare, and they'd disagree and that wouldn't do either of them any good.

She felt in the jacket pocket, thinking that the much abused cigarillo might help her think. She used to smoke and ride, but had given up smoking when she stopped riding.

She hadn't started smoking again, but sometimes the aroma was enough to help her think. The cigarillo was not there. She hadn't recalled smoking it, did she throw it away and forget?

'Damn, I'm getting old', she thought to herself. Old and foolish and probably worrying over nothing.

He'd told her she should stay away from him and left her. Kiss or no kiss, she doubted he'd be back. She was just making a mountain out of an ant hill.

Trager had ridden for hours trying to find answers. That damn kiss made him want more. God help him, he _needed_ her. It was the first time he'd not been in complete control of a situation. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling in this case.

When he least expected it, his mind's eye would focus on her smile or that quirky eyebrow. It got to the point where he couldn't enjoy a quick fuck because of her. Now he understood why an addict needed a fix so badly.

That easy, honest acceptance of him as a person was only one of many things that made her so different. She was everything that any man could want in a woman. He had to admit it, she was what _he_ wanted. She had already come to mean something special to him in the short time he'd known her. The question was, did he have a chance with her?

He felt it might be possible. Cat understood bikers, but not the outlaw life. She didn't know what the club was capable of doing, of what **he** was capable of doing. She would have heard rumors. Charming was rife with rumors about the Sons. About him.

He recalled her friendliness to him the first time he'd entered her store. That had touched something buried deep inside him, something clawing to get out.

He wasn't much of a talker when something was bothering him. Once in awhile he could confide in Clay, but it was usually about club business. There was really no one he could talk to about this.

How would it be with Cat? Would she be like Gemma or like Donna? Would being with her make any complications worth it? Would there even **be** complications?

There was one certainty; once he made the detour there was no turning back. Life wouldn't be the same if he took this fork in the road. It would be an interesting ride, full of unexpected twists and turns.

It occurred to him there was only one answer. If he was going to have any chance of exploring this thing with Cat, he would have to keep her and SAMCRO separate. He wasn't about to give up SAMCRO, he wouldn't give that up for anyone or anything. He belonged there and it belonged to him. He didn't want to have to choose between one or the other if he could have both. It would take a lot of effort, but he wasn't afraid of getting his hands dirty. This was just a different way of doing it. His mind made up, he turned the bike around and headed back to Charming

When he returned to what he called home, he showered off the road dust, then dressed in blue jeans and a button down shirt. He deliberately left his blade, pistol, rings and his vest behind. He considered riding, but the night was quiet, and Cat's house wasn't far. He decided to walk. If he was going to keep the two worlds separate, best to get used to it now.

It was long past her usual bedtime, but Cat couldn't sleep. She knew from experience that there was no sense in fighting the bed.

She tried to read but gave up after reading the same sentence five times. The television offered nothing but infomercials. "Fifty seven million channels and nothin's on," she mused, paraphrasing a 1980's Springsteen song that ran along a similar vein.

She'd set the computer to running its weekly scan, so a game was out of the question. She tried music, but it got on her nerves. She couldn't even find satisfaction in a Gerard Butler movie! Since the cats were asleep they'd be no distraction, either.

There was only one other answer to this bout of insomnia; a Tai Chi workout. It always cleared her mind and usually relaxed her enough to make sleep come more easily. She hadn't done a workout that day as she normally did.

She changed into sweats and headed to the front door. It was a little too dark to work out safely in the back yard. It was late enough that she could use the front drive without worrying about people watching. She'd see well enough from the street lamps.

She opened the door and nearly screamed. There was Trager standing in the dimly lit doorway. She'd nearly run him down. Strange, she hadn't heard the Harley pull into the drive. Stranger still, he wasn't wearing his club vest, nor the knife in his belt.

She raised questioning eyes to his as he stepped toward her. His hands clasped both sides of her face, just as he had done a few hours earlier.

"They're at my place, a few blocks away. I walked," he said in answer to her unspoken question. "My being here now has nothing to do with SAMCRO and my life in it."

Both eyebrows climbed her forehead in response to that. Despite her sweat suit she suddenly felt chilled to the bone.

Still holding her face in his hands, he stepped over the threshold, forcing her back into the house.

"I'm not a nice person. I've done things. Things I won't detail. I'm likely to do more. I told you that you should stay away from me, but I can't leave you alone. You're a decent person, a kind person. There's not a lot of decency or kindness in my life. I need some of that. I need **you**." He spoke deliberately, as if each word was torn from his throat.

She gazed at him, unable to speak. She felt herself caught in a tornado of emotion that was spinning out of control. Tig needed her? No way.

He was holding on to her as if he were drowning and she was the only thing keeping him afloat. She could feel the muscles of his arms under her hands. His own hands, still holding her face clasped between them, were cool and rough.

Those hands could crush her in an instant if he wanted to. She had a feeling that those hands wanted to do much more pleasurable things to her.

"I-I don't know what to tell you, Tig," she breathed.

"Alex. My real name is Alex. Say it." It was an order, a request and a prayer all rolled into one.

"Alex," she complied. "I can't make you any promises."

"I'm not asking for any. I can't give _you_ any. I can only give you the present, right here, right now. Each day."

God! He wanted to throw her to the floor and get it over with, but that was something he'd do in his MC life. Be damned if he was going to fuck this up, this one good thing

"Alex, I don't want empty promises," she said, her hands moving from his arms to behind his head. "If you're wanting some kind of safe harbor, I can do that, I _don't _want to know what goes on with the club, or what you do within it."

His eyes bored into hers. Had she really just put into words what had been in his thoughts? Did he dare to allow himself a small measure of hope?

Cat surrendered herself to whatever was going to come. "I know the club is as much a part of you as my cats are to me. Maybe I'm being chicken shit. I just don't want to be in the loop." She winced at her words as they sounded so wimpy! "I can't believe I just said that. But it's the way I feel and I won't lie to you. It seems so incredibly unfair to make you go from one world to another."

"It isn't really. It's what has to be, " he replied finally possessing her mouth. This time he was more gentle, more tender, more giving. "If that's what I have to do for one righteous thing in my life, then I'll do it."

He kissed her again, trying not to force her into anything. If only his body would cooperate, because he was harder than a rock!

Cat's eyebrow quirked. "No, I won't go there with a corny old line." She released the embrace, taking his hand to lead him to the sofa. They sat together, her hand enfolded in both of his. She wasn't scared of sex, maybe not even of having it with T–Alex. But she was uncertain and even downright shy at the moment. He was certainly willing and raring to go!

Trager reached up to stroke her hair. He knew she was uncertain of what she wanted right now. She'd never acted that way with him before. This was a completely new course for him, too, and he had no map to guide him, no previous experience to rely on.

"Alex," Cat breathed softly. "I feel like this is all some kind of dream. If it is, I don't wanna wake up. I'm not ready to just leap into the deep end. I can't just be casual about something like this. I'm not into one night stands."

She looked down at the strong hands holding hers. She felt his fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to look at him.

"We don't have to do anything tonight you're not ready to do, and when we do, it_ won't_ be for just one night.'

He drew her close, holding her to his side. She could hear his heart beat under her ear. His chest was warm to her cheek, the fine hair on his chest tickling her nose a little. She felt herself relaxing in his embrace. She sensed that he, too, was becoming less tense.

"So, where do we go from here," Cat mused, partly to herself, partly to him.

"We just take things one step at a time. Any time I am with you in private, SAMCRO doesn't belong. No bike, no weapons, no vest. Out on the street, I'm business. I have to be."

Cat understood what he meant. When they were away from the MC, they had their own world. Outside the doors, in the real world, they had to play by an entirely different set of rules.

She could say 'no', and that would be the end of the matter. But she didn't want to say no.

"If you're willing to walk from one world to the other, then I can do a little shanksmare myself." she replied, her hand idly stroking his arm. "But you don't have to walk when you can ride. Don't give up the bike."

His arms tightened around her, and she felt safe and protected. She snuggled closer to him, stifling a mighty yawn.

"Seems like I'm always falling asleep around you lately," she stiflied another yawn.

"Maybe I should go, let you get some rest."

She rose and taking her hand in his, led him to her bedroom. "I'm too tired for anything but sleep, and it's not right to ask this of you, but would you please stay anyway?"

Trager followed her into the bedroom. He drew off his boots, and settled onto the top of the covers, drawing her head to his chest. He stroked her hair as he had just the week before. It still felt like silk and smelled of raspberries. He kissed her again, deeply and gently. Not demanding any more than she was willing to give. Cat was soon sound asleep, and he was surprised at how right it felt to just lie next to her.

Despite the covers, she fit to him like the perfect puzzle piece. He wasn't expected to do anything but_ be_ there with her. He stared up at the ceiling, listening to her breathe. They'd taken the first step on a very strange journey. He hoped neither of them would regret it.

Cat awoke before her alarm went off; her cats curled up along one side. Alex was stretched out on her other side, his arm encircling her so that his hand rested on her midriff.

She gently dislodged the cats, and slid out from under his hand. She didn't want to be embarrassed by the sight of his 'morning wood', and she needed a bit of privacy. She quietly collected her clothes for the day and slipped into the bathroom. She hoped she wouldn't make too much noise. He looked peaceful, or at least as peaceful as an outlaw could look.

Alex. A good name, much better than 'Tig'. Maybe that was short for Tiger? She had no intention of asking. If he wanted to volunteer anything about his club life, she'd be willing to listen, but she wasn't going to pry.

Cat considered how much had changed in just the last 24 hours. Alex seemed willing to give her time, and she appreciated that, but what if he wanted something from her she couldn't give? She wasn't a prude, but she wasn't into kinky sex games, either. She'd performed oral sex on her lovers and even liked it. She didn't like the idea of having it done on her.

What if he wanted to? The idea made her squirm as it was not appealing to her at all. Well, no use worrying about something that hadn't reared its' head yet. Just deal with it when it came about, if ever.

She tried not to think too far into the future. He'd promised that he wouldn't use her for a one night fling, she would hold onto to that thought for now.

Having lived alone for some time, Cat had gotten out of the habit of locking doors. It didn't occur to her to do so as she stepped into the shower.

Trager awoke to find himself alone on the bed with only the cats for company. The light was dim, the dark curtains in the room allowed very little sunlight into the room. He could hear water running in the bathroom. He looked at the cats sitting at the foot of the bed, staring at him. "Guess you'll have to get used to sharing your mom. Think you can put up with me?"

He held his hand out and was rewarded by the purr of the one eyed cat as she rubbed her whiskers against his fingers. He noticed that the blackened eyeball was because the cornea had been stripped from the eye.

The other black cat, the large male, decided he wanted a piece of the action. The cat plopped his large frame next to Trager, a deep purr rumbling from his throat.

He absently petted the cats, listening to the shower running. He knew she was preparing for the day. He wasn't ready for his time with her to end, at least not yet.

He stood up, stretched, and crossed to the bath. He listening for a moment at the door. He tried the latch; it was unlocked. He peeked in and got his first full, though slightly foggy, look at the woman who'd captured him. He wasn't dissatisfied. Just as he'd thought, she was older and had a little more weight on her than he was used to. But it was a nice body. He could get a lot of pleasure from that body. Hopefully, he could give a lot of pleasure to her.

He quickly disrobed and slipped into the bathroom so she wouldn't feel a change in temperature. She had her back to him, he noticed through the clear door, and the shower had plenty of room. He slid the door open. .

"What the–!" She shrieked. A blush colored her face as she saw Trager standing before her in all his manly glory. "Oh, it's you," she added weakly.

"You were expecting someone else?" he asked, stepping into the shower and closing the door after him.

"Of course not! You scared me, that's all. I wasn't expecting a visitor in the bathroom." She kept her eyes carefully focused on his face.

His eyes were full of amusement. "I got lonesome," he replied, taking the shampoo bottle from her and squeezing the contents into one hand. He turned her so that her back was to him, and lathered her hair for her, enjoying the feel of her hair and the soap in his hands.

"That feels nice," she sighed. He continued to gently massage her scalp, mindful that it might still be tender from the previous week's sun, and felt her relax.

His hands slid from her hair to her shoulders drawing her to face him. He was careful to keep the evidence of his interest from coming in contact with her. 'Not yet,' he thought to himself.

The water rinsed the soap from her hair, sending lather down both their bodies. He bent his head to kiss the scar on her throat, his tongue tasting its' texture. He felt her shiver at the touch of his mouth on her throat. Then her hands slid along his waist to his back.

He noticed a second scar, much smaller along her midriff. It didn't look like a knife wound, but more of a surgical scar as it was only about six inches long.

"Is this what they call 'clean sex'?' she asked impishly, that one eyebrow drawing up.

"If you want it," he replied.

"Here? Now?"

"Here. _Right _now," His hands moving from her shoulders to the enticing breasts, feeling the nipples harden under his expert touch.

She didn't think it would be possible for sexual activities to take place in such a confined space. Trager soon had her convinced that it was, indeed, not only possible, but pleasurable as well.

Trager kept reminding himself that she wasn't used to the kind of stuff he was capable of. He strove to make sure he gave her as much pleasure as she gave him.

It came as quite a surprise to him when she rewarded him with some of the best head he'd had in some time. It was much better than the two Mexican chicks at the warehouse. She knew how to use teeth and tongue to good measure, and he grew weak in the knees from her administrations.

Eventually, their fun in the water had to come to a stop, as the temperature got extremely cold. They dried each other off and dressed silently, both pretty well satisfied with the morning.

"I guess you'll be having to go soon," she finally broke the silence.

There was no hard and fast rule about showing up at the clubhouse on a Sunday. Not much was going on until the warehouse was rebuilt. Nothing needed his immediate attention today. If he were needed, he'd be called. He could always check in later in the day.

He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace, their mouths melding just as their bodies had. "I'd like to stay around a little while, get to know you better."

"I'd say that you already know me pretty well, at least in the Biblical sense," she grinned.

'That may be, but I'd like to know more than your physical attributes."

She stepped away from his embrace, "If you're sticking around awhile, then I'd best put the pot on, and see about getting some sustenance in you. Can't have you punking out at an inopportune moment."

Trager tried to slap her butt, but she was too fast for him. He followed her from the bedroom, stopping in the music room to flip on the stereo. He then settled on the couch. Cat had run her speaker wires over the doorframes into the front room. The speakers were large and occupied two opposite corners. He was impressed by her planning. The music was enjoyable and there was no unsightly stereo stand to spoil the effect.

She fixed a quick and appetizing breakfast for them, which they shared in silence. He liked that she didn't feel it necessary to keep up a running commentary.

"I have to tell you that it's good our first time was without an audience," he told her once the meal was over.

"Are you referring to the shrine to Gerard Butler, or the cats?"

"Neither. The picture of your husband. It would've felt a bit unsettling having him watching us, like I was invading his territory."

Her eyes clouded over. "You're not. He - died - some time ago. It's why I came here in the first place. It's something I can't talk about right now, if that's ok with you."

He nodded, respecting her wishes. He had to let her tell it in her own time, when she was ready.

"How did you get the scar on your throat? Somebody cut you?"

She nodded. "Back when I was young and stupid. I was living with a man many years older than me who was a junkie and dope addict. One day, a dealer came around to collect a debt. I refused to pay it, so he cut me. Cost 13 stitches, a tetanus shot, and a perfectly good shirt."

She spoke about in a very matter of fact manner, as if someone else had survived such a nightmare. It was how she preferred to think of it.

He involuntarily clenched his fists. Damn good thing the asshole wasn't around. No wonder the MC didn't like dope dealers! "Dare I ask what happened to the boyfriend?"

She grinned wickedly. "I threw his drunk junkie ass out when he attempted to give me a lesson of his own.."

That was more like the firebrand he was used to!

"Have you always been in the club?"

"Not always, but for a long while. It's what I'm good at doing. You may as well know I have two daughters, named Fawn and Dawn." He dug his wallet out, extended a picture. Two little flower faces smiled out at her, their father's blue eyes framed by clouds of blonde hair.

"I don't see them much, but do what I can for them."

"It's rough havin' to take care of someone you love from far away," she remarked softly, mentally chalking up another thing they had in common.

"Are you on any kind of BC?"

Geeze! The man could change topics faster than she could keep up sometimes! BC? What in Hell did he-- Oh, that! She smiled sadly. "No, but don't worry. I had a real nasty bike wreck years ago. It left me as barren as a desert. I know it sounds like a line, but there is proof if you need it."

Trager felt like a major ass, but it was something he had to know. They'd already engaged in unprotected sex, and he wasn't ready to father more children.

Cat could tell that things were getting a little too intense. A change of scenery was needed. "Wanna get out for awhile? Maybe take the PT or the bikes somewhere?"

"Never been in one of those Cruisers."

"Then we'll take the PT for a spin. Give me a few seconds, and we'll get moving," she glanced over her shoulder at him to add, "I'll even let you drive."

Trager commanded the Cruiser as well as he handled the Harley, not that Cat had any doubt. They drove a few miles, putting SAMCRO, Charming, and heavy disclosures behind them.

Trager didn't like cars as a rule, and drove only when it was necessary. But he found himself liking the PT. It was a smooth ride, designed to look like cars of the 40s, but lighter and a little more comfortable, and it had a good sound system. He did find one thing not to his satisfaction.

"Damn bucket seats don't allow for close companionship and that center armrest makes it worse ," he griped.

"The back seat folds down, though. Makes up for the front buckets."

"We'll see about that," he promised.

Later, he was forced to admit that the folding rear seats were a definite advantage.

"Were you one of those Girl Scouts? You certainly know how to be prepared," he indicated the comfy blanket they had placed along the folding rear seats.

"For all of a year. But didn't like the uniforms," she explained.

"Indiana gets a lot of snow, so you travel with an emergency blanket to keep warm should you slide off the road. I never took it out after the move."

"See that you don't," he replied. "Never know when it might come in handy."

Their silence continued during the return drive. Trager didn't want to spoil things by asking questions Cat wasn't ready to answer. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable with too many personal questions

When they returned to Charming, she knew without his telling her that he needed to make an appearance at the club. She didn't say anything about it when he held her close.

"I'll see you later tonight, if you'd like."

"I'd like."

She intended to make a few changes in his absence, so that he wouldn't be haunted by any ghosts from her past.

When they retired to the bedroom that evening, he did notice the changes in decoration. He said nothing about it, but she knew he'd noticed.

Monday morning dawned clear and bright, but Cat's heart felt a little heavy. It was going to be a little more difficult than she'd anticipated to act like nothing was changed in the outside world. But she intended to live up to her side of the bargain. Trager walked across the back yard with her to the shop, wanting to make the moment last a little longer himself.

He knew that Cat was a little down. In just the short amount of time they'd spent together, he'd become familiar with her body language.

He pulled a phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Wow! It's a phone."

He frowned at her sarcasm. "I know, you already have one. This is different. It's one of those cell and two way communicators, set up only to call the companion which I have. If I can't answer, the voice mail is set up just for you."

Feeling a bit like Jimmy Olsen getting his signal watch, she slipped the phone into her back pocket and quietly unlocked the door to her store.

"Cat," his hands squeezed her shoulders.

"Go, now," she replied, keeping her back to him. "Go before anyone sees you and asks questions. I'll see you when I see you."

He embraced her first, turning her around to face him. He kissed her and then walked away. She entered the store and closed the door behind her. Neither looked back.

Back in his familiar attire, Trager marched into the Oakland jewelry store as if he owned it. He headed straight to the owner, whom he'd dealt with several times before.

:'What are you doing here?" the owner asked, none too friendly.

"Got some business for you, if you're interested in making some money," Trager replied icily.

"Oh, well, certainly. What can I get you, a bike ring?"

"I have something in mind, but it has to be made and made fast. I want you to make a silver bracelet, etched with a cat face, set with garnet eyes. How long and how much?"

"An hour, $100," came the prompt reply.

"Make it 30 minutes, you get two."

Twenty nine minutes later and $200 lighter, he departed with the jewelry. It rested in a cloth bag in his vest pocket.

He rode straight to the coffee shop. He walked in as if it were every other day.

"One large black coffee coming up, Mr. Trager," Cat greeted him.

"For here," he replied, placing both hands on the counter in front of him. She gazed at him quizzically. Trager removed his hands from the counter but positioned his body so that the few patrons couldn't see what was happening. Cat looked at the cloth bag lying on the counter, then at Trager. He shrugged, feigning innocence.

She handed over the coffee cup, he thanked her and sauntered to a secluded corner that allowed him to watch her.

She hefted the small bag in her hand, opened it and shook out the silver bracelet. She held it in her palm so that it caught the light. The garnets gleamed a deep red. She looked across the room at Trager, who sat holding his cup in front of his face. She knew he was smiling. She nodded very slightly. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. It was a little big, and slid down her arm so it was covered by her shirt sleeve.

Trager got up and returned to the counter, holding his empty cup out to her. "May I get a refill?"

When she grasped the cup, his hand closed over hers for a moment. "When you have a chance, look inside," he whispered.

"Here's your refill, Mr. Trager. Have a good day," she replied, her eyes shining with delight and amusement.

He returned to his seat with the steaming cup. The gift had been well received and he it was nice to have a little additional time with her. If this was any indication of things to come, this might just work after all.

He finished the coffee, saluted her, and left the cup on the table next to him before striding out the door to his bike. He looked over his shoulder as he started the bike, and saw her stuff the cloth bag in her shirt pocket, right over her heart.

Once the noon rush was behind her, Cat took the opportunity to look at the inside of the bracelet. Her insides turned to liquid as she read his real name and the word 'purrfection'. At that moment, her new cell phone rang.

"For someone who wanted to be all 'business', you're being a bit adventurous," she admonished him. "Are you sitting outside on the other side of the street?"

His laugh made her insides feel like liquid again. "Not today. A few weeks ago, now. . ."

"I figured it was you!" She replied. She was grateful to be in the back room where no one could overhear her.

'Don't get too used to things like this morning," he continued. "I felt it important to give you something to remind you that you're not alone, even when I'm not with you."

"It's purrfect," she replied, rolling the r's in her best Eartha Kitt impersonation. "Thank you. "

"You played things real well today, Cat. As for the gift, I'll let you thank me more appropriately later."

"You are insatiable! I'll see you when I see you," she rang off.

When she thought of what he'd done for her, she decided that she needed to tweak her lifestyle in order to make this situation with him work. His efforts spoke volumes to her, and she didn't want him to be the only one making sacrifices and taking all the risks.

She determined it would be possible to promote one of her staff to a supervisory position and hire some more part time employees. This would allow her to assume a more flexible 'on call' schedule. It would also make it more possible for her to have time with Alex.

"I adore this bracelet, it means a lot to me. The shop is doing well, and by making these changes, I can be more administrative, and less out front. Plus, I can still be available to the regulars."

Trager was impressed, even touched by the amount of time and effort she'd put into her plan. It told him more about her commitment than any words she could ever speak.

"You came up with this all in a few hours?"

"There's more to this kid than a pretty face," she replied.

He pulled her into his lap, his arms encircling her. "That's true. You're quite a woman, Cat. Your husband was one lucky SOB to have you. So am I."

She nuzzled his cheek. "You have me as long as you want me, and as long as you treat me right. If you go after some tail, just do me the favor of not rubbing it in my face or of comparing me to them. And _don't_ call me by their name in a fit of passion. If that happens, I'm gone."

He clasped his hands around her face, his eyes probing hers. She returned his glare with a very resolute expression. "Are you making ultimatums?"

"No. I told you, no empty promises. I'm capable of uprooting and starting over if I have to."

He realized that she wasn't kidding. "What makes you think I would _want_ someone else?"

"Maybe not someone, some**thing **else might be more like it. There's certain sexual things you like that I don't think I can handle. Maybe you need those, maybe not." She grinned impishly as she added, "There's also the club parties to consider, and nature tends to take its' course. If something like that happens, well, like the commercial says, 'what happens in SAMCRO stays in SAMCRO'."

He'd figured that there were certain sexual acts that scared her, just from the way she'd responded to him. He had wondered how he'd be able to prevent doing something that might hurt her, or make her feel inadequate.

He momentarily wondered if she'd spoken with Gemma about them, as this sounded so similar to the agreement she had with Clay!

No, he knew better. Cat might respect Gemma, but he knew she would never discuss him with her or anyone else in town. "Have I told you how incredible you are?" he breathed huskily.

She stood up, taking him by the hand. "You could show me as well as tell me, unless you're all talk and no action," she challenged.

He needed no further encouragement. He growled at her, chased her to the bed and fell beside her. Within moments, he was well on the way to showing her just how much action he was capable of, and she did a very good job of being appreciative.

Cat promoted her best worker, a 20 something Asian female with two children to support. The woman's husband had been laid off, and money was tight. Anna Lee had proved herself capable and trustworthy. She would make a good manager.

Three more students were hired on a part time basis. She chose college students who had good grades and needed the financial assistance and flexible hours she could give. With the additional staff, Cat was able to appear to concentrate on the behind the scenes aspects of the shop.

She was always on hand to greet her regular customers and friends including Chibs, Gemma and Trager. She and Trager were able to maintain the front story that they were 'just friends. If Gemma or Chibs suspected anything to the contrary, they kept their opinions to themselves.

Cat became more involved in community events. This helped promote the shop, and also gave her more opportunity to interact with the friends she'd made in the club. Naturally, being able to 'hang out' in public made these events that much more enjoyable. Being able to be in the same place at the same time cut down on some frustrations for them.

She also began adding little extra events to the store environment. She offered an open mike evening to allow the young people to showcase their talents. Many sang, but there were also writers who shared their short stories and poems, and some groups performed short skits.

This led to another entertainment venue for the community. After discussing it with the staff, they held a karoke night. If it took off, karoke would alternate with open mike night each month.

Bobby Munson, one of the MC members who was also known as Bobby Elvis, agreed to open the first karaoke night with his Elvis impersonation. He appeared in full Vegas Elvis regalia, and his rendition of the King's best songs brought down the house.

Then came the time to turn the mic over to the customers. There were already several names on the list. One of her part timers, Pete, was running the machine and the sign up sheet.

Cat took over the mic from Bobby and started the festivities.

"Good evenin' all! Welcome to '_Charming Pawse_' first karaoke night! I'm Cat, for those of you who don't know me, this is my place. Let's hear it for Bobby Elvis for gettin' us started!"

After the applause for Bobby ended, she continued, "If anyone hasn't signed up yet, Mr. Pete is right over here to help you. If you want something to wet your whistle, Miss Anna and Mr. JR are behind the counter."

She looked over the audience, a good cross section of MC members, teens and adults. Trager was leaning against the book shelves, as the place was nearly standing room only. She hoped the fire marshal wasn't anywhere around.

"Now, there are only three rules tonight. Rule one, have fun! Rule two, no catcalls, laughing, booing, or otherwise making fun of anyone, no matter how much their voice snaps, cracks, pops, squeaks, or goes flat. Rule three is that rule number two especially applies to me!"

She nodded at Pete, who started the machine with the first selection she'd picked. She waited as a lone guitar picked out a tune, followed by the drum beat, and she launched into Melissa Ethridge's "I'm the Only One". When the song ended, she was met with calls for an encore. Though she'd planned another song later in the evening if needed, it was obvious she wasn't going to get away with one song.

Pete came to her rescue by giving her the thumbs up. She bowed her head as if in prayer, and waited as a lonely wind combined with chimes issued from the speakers, followed by an acoustic guitar and mouth harp. Her version of Jon Bon Jovi's 'Young Gun' was almost wistful as she sang the words about a gunslinger's life. The Sons found one verse hit especially close to home:

"Each night I go to bed/I pray the Lord my soul to keep/No, I ain't looking for forgiveness/But before I'm six foot deep/Lord I got to ask a favor/And I hope you'll understand/ Cause I've lived life to the fullest/Let this boy die like a man /Staring down a bullet/let me make my final stand."

Another thunderous ovation greeted the end of the song. Cat waved them off after a couple of bows and introduced the next performer.

The karaoke night became as successful as the open mike night. Every karaoke night, the MC would be in attendance and demand 'Young Guns'. She also introduced them to "Wanted, Dead or Alive" from the sane artist.

When Cat and Trager were together in private, they did more than just explore the physical part of the relationship. Not that they neglected that aspect, and Cat soon came to learn that she wasn't as much a prude as she feared

Often they would take the bikes out. Her rice burner was always able to keep up with his Harley. They would ride off the main road, finding places to hang out besides her house.

Cat enjoyed areas where there was water, so any location that had a lake, creek or river was welcome. She often brought her fishing pole and she could catch a fish or two. If the catch was good enough, she would cook it over an open fire. Trager never failed to be impressed by her varied skills and abilities.

Sometimes they just stayed at Cat's home, getting to know each other by sharing stories about their lives. Trager often used very choice words when describing events He had a tendency to be very matter of fact and direct about things most people would be sentimental over. That directness was as much a part of him as his smile, his hair, and his bike, and Cat soon grew used to it.

She was eventually able to relate how her husband was killed. She also filled him in on the reason for her dark tinted glasses and her preference for dimly lit rooms, which was her natural extreme light sensitivity.

"It's something that's run in the family, but lucky me has had the worst time of it," she added.

The conversations they had helped bring them closer together. Trager was delighted to learn she was a preacher's kid, "It explains the hint of wild child about you," he explained. "I've never known any PK to be angelic!"

"Yeah, well Daddy will tell you I gave him quite a devilish time. He still worries about me, despite the fact that he doesn't have to."

"You've never been a parent. Just because your kid grows up doesn't mean you stop wanting the best for them or you aren't concerned about their well being. How does he handle your being so far away from him?"

He knew from the photo albums and her stories that she considered family important. He also wasn't blind to the fact that she missed her family, despite nearly daily calls from her father.

"I think he's ok about it. If he had his 'druthers, he'd probably rather have me closer, what with him getting weaker by the month. But he understands why I made the move. Actually, I've been thinking of going back for a visit, but haven't made any plans."

"I think you should go, while you have the chance to be with him," Trager replied. "So you don't have regrets later on."

"I don't know, Alex. It's a lot of trouble."

"If you're worried about leaving me –"

"No, love, it's not just that. It's wondering who would take care of the cats for me. It's not like I can leave kibble out for a day or two and they'll be fine. If I go, it's gonna be at least for a week. I can't expect you to do that."

"Would you be willing to let Donna take care of them? You two get along pretty well. Or what about Anna?"

"Taking care of cats isn't in Anna's job description, but if Donna doesn't mind, I guess that would be ok."

"Would you go if Donna says yes?"

Cat felt a flash of annoyance, "Geeze, Alex, just push my ass out the door why don't you? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you want me out of the way!"

"Never," he replied. "But I don't want you to miss on a chance to be with your family, either. Go see your Dad, have some fun. Yes, I'll miss you, but I'll be ok for awhile."

He held her close and whispered "Just make sure it's a short while, will ya?"

Donna agreed to watch the house and cats for her, so that matter was quickly settled. She was able to book a flight on line for three weeks later.

Trager had spent the night before Cat's departure in order to drive her to the airport. They were awakened earlier than planned by her cell phone.

Her regular cell phone played Gerard Butler singing "Point of No Return" whenever she had a call. While she loved hearing it, early morning telephone calls always meant bad news. This was no exception.

"Cat? It's Mrs. York," her good friend and mother's landlord answered her sleepy greeting "I'm sorry to be waking you up, I have bad news about your mother."

"Oh, God! What's she done now?" All trace of sleep was replaced by a hint of trepidation in her voice. Trager reached over to lay a comforting hand on her arm.

"Your mother apparently died sometime in the night, her caseworker found her this morning." When she didn't give an immediate response, Mrs. York added, "I'm sorry."

"So am I,," Cat replied, her tone emotionless "I was going to Daddy's this week, but y'all are going to need some help. I'll come there first. I'll call you once I have everything worked out."

"Ok, honey. I love you."

"Love you too, Mrs. York. Sorry about the situation. See you soon." Cat ended the call then dialed her father's number. She felt it'd be better that he hear this news from her than read it in the newspaper or hear it from someone else in the family.

"Hey, it's me," she said when he answered. "Got some bad news for you. Mother's gone Home. Mrs. York says it happened last night, I guess that it was natural causes. But this does mean I have to delay coming to see you by a couple of days."

Trager had heard her father's voice many times over the phone when he'd call. His voice tended to carry. It was the same voice as his daughter's, with the same small touch of Southern accent. "I guess that's so."

"There's a lot to do where the apartment is concerned, and it's not fair to Mrs. York to leave it all to them to handle. There's some things that I want to try to salvage if its' possible."

"Well, at least we can rejoice that she's finally at peace," her father replied.

"The county will take care the burial, there'll probably be a grave site service of some kind. There's no one else but me that will be present, as you know she turned against Uncle Marion and Uncle Mike. No sense in draggin' them through the wringer for no reason."

"You should still call them, Cat. They _are_ her family. Let them decide what they want to do. Either or both might want to be there for you."

Cat knew he was right, but she wished she didn't have to make the calls.

Her father seemed to know what she was thinking as he added, "Seems like you're always the one cleaning up after her, honey. I'm sorry,"

"That makes two of us. See you soon, Daddy. Love you."

"Love you too."

Cat let out a deep breath that sounded to Trager like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Forgive me for asking, but you told him your mother died. I thought your parents were still married."

"No, not for a number of years. When I speak of 'Mom', that's my step-mom. This is my birth mother. I haven't seen her in years. We didn't get along very well."

Trager guided her head to his chest, holding her and offering his strength and support even though he didn't know all the details. He could sense that Cat was torn by the news, no matter the gulf between her and her mother. "Do you want me to come with you?"

She lifted her head, wishing she could see him better in the darkness. He'd just offered to come with her to a state he'd never been to, for a woman he'd never met and would never know.

It was another measurement of the man she was coming to know better and to treasure.

She kissed him deeply, expressing her gratitude for his offer. "No, love. But thank you for offering.. This is something I gotta do on my own."

"Are you sure?"

"Just hold me."

That's exactly what he did, allowing Cat to wrestle with her own demons. He knew she would bring him into the loop when she was ready. They slept for awhile until the alarm went off.

She did call her two uncles, and while they were sympathetic, they stated they wouldn't be going to the burial. They offered to help with any expenses, and asked her to keep them posted.

Cat's bag was already packed, but she added clothes appropriate for a burial service as well as some work clothes.

As they traveled to the airport, she sat staring out the window for several miles. Then her quiet voice broke the silence.

"Mother was my best friend when I was little. We'd go out on weekends, usually to the library, or anything that was inexpensive cause ministers don't make a lot of money. We shared a lot of the same interests. I loved her, even when things got difficult."

Cat recounted the scary day when she was nine and her mother went to the hospital with a blood clot. There were four weeks where her mother hovered between life and death. Once released from the hospital months later, her mother was never the same, nor was their relationship.

"Eventually, her mind just seemed to let go. When I was a senior in high school, she developed an obsession with a deceased actor, called herself his spiritual wife. It really freaked us out."

Four years later, despite various treatments to make her mother better, came the night that changed their relationship for good. Cat was living at home and going to college. She was up late that night studying for midterms when the phone in her father's room rang. Her mother had taken off with the car early that morning, and they had no idea where she'd gone. Her father had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer the week before.

"The call was from the sheriff's department in a small town in Illinois, about two hours away. They'd picked Mother up in a 24 hour grocery, wandering up and down the aisles, talking to herself and scaring the shit out of the clerk."

There was the drive with her father, who cried in frustration over the situation, announcing with certainty that he was finished with the marriage. After eight years of outlandish behavior and having her shut him out at every turn, he intended to end the 26 year relationship.

The sheriff released her mother to their custody, and they returned home. Her father was afraid to be in the same room with her mother, much less in a moving vehicle. Cat drove her fuming mother in her car, following her father in the one her mother had driven. That vehicle barely made the return journey.

The following morning, her mother had been committed to a local hospital and her father began divorce proceedings.

"I refused to take sides and when she moved, I found my own place to live. Mother never forgave me for remaining neutral. She refused to have anything to do with me from then on unless she wanted money. I helped her when I could. We lived in the same town for decades, but we might as well have lived on opposite sides of the coast."

"What was wrong with her?"

"Chronic paranoid schizophrenia. It was dormant for most of her life, but when she had the blood clot, it hit hard and dug in for the duration."

Cat turned stormy emerald eyes to him, her glasses laying on the dash in front of her.

"It's said that mental illness can run in families, but you don't have to worry about me, Alex. I'm_** not**_ going to turn out like her! " Tears were streaming down her face.

Trager stopped the car at the side of the road, killing the engine. What in the hell brought this on all of a sudden? His mind flashed back to the morning after their first night together, how she'd been so empathetic about doing what one could for loved ones from afar. This was what she had been referring to!

She was crying silently in the seat beside him. He realized that she feared he'd leave her due to the potential that she could wind up like her mother.

Well, he had news for her, if it didn't scare her husband away, it wasn't going to send him away, either.

To hell with the airplane, if she missed it, he'd just buy her another ticket on whatever airline would take her! He leapt from the car to the passenger side, and pulled Cat from her seat.

"I** know** you're not unbalanced, although some people might question your sanity in getting involved with me," he growled, shaking her just a little. "I care about you, Cat. How could you think I'd dump you if I knew about this?"

"I've lived with the spectre for years, and haven't gotten away scot free, Alex. Before marrying Bill, my doctor determined that I suffered from depression coupled with Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome."

"Was that because of the scar?"

"It was a contributory factor. The PTSS came up following an attack from a co-worker. I take anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds religiously. But there are no guarantees, " she explained.

"Every time I lost my temper over something stupid, or felt stressed and reacted on it, I wondered if it was my sanity slipping away. The doc kept assuring me if I were going to succumb, it would've happened years ago. How in Hell could I ask you to take on a burden like this?"

Trager held her, wishing he knew of the right words to assure her. "Because it's something that affects you, and if it affects you, it concerns me. I _want _to deal with this with you!"

She couldn't look at him much less believe that he wouldn't walk away from her. This was something that had affected many lives in her family; caused a great deal of pain for her during her marriage. Why would Trager want to have to put with something like this?

"Besides," Trager added, tipping her face up so he could look into her eyes. "I'm the **last **person who should take offense if you were a little unhinged. You have to agree with that. "

She nodded, her smile a little shaky. "I suppose so, but it's not exactly something that people can easily deal with It's not like having a family history of eye trouble or red hair and freckles. I'm sorry to have doubted you."

"You don't have to apologize, Babe. Just don't ever think you can't tell me something. We _are_ in this together, y'know."

He could tell she was hurting from a pain that had been going on for years with no release. He held her, allowing her to cry out her grief and pain and fear. He stroked her hair as she cried, knowing that she needed this emotional release for a lot of reasons. Eventually, the tears dried, and she stepped away from his embrace.

"Thank you, love. But we'd best get on our way, or I'll have to find alternative transportation to Indiana," she said.

Cat spent the rest of the ride with her head on his shoulder, despite the invasive armrest between them.

She had intended to have Trager drop her off at the entrance to her air carrier, but he insisted on parking the car and seeing her off in a proper manner, even though he couldn't say goodbye to her at the gate.

She checked her bag, got her ticket, and they walked toward the concourse. There was still a little time before she had to get to the gate, so they sat at one of the tables in the food court.

"Leave me a message when you land, and keep me posted as you can," Trager reminded her. "Are you sure you're up to doing this alone?"

She nodded. Part of her wanted him to come with her, but she knew how impossible that was for him right now.

"I'll be fine, love. Thank you for everything," she replied. 'Guess I'd better get going,"

"Not before I give you this," he replied, handing her an envelope. "Maybe buy your Mom's grave a headstone or something, I don't know. Just take it."

She embraced and kissed him soundly. "I'll see ya when I see ya," she stated, squeezing his hand and turning away.

"Yeah. See ya," he replied, turning his back to her and stalking through the terminal.

Trager spent the drive back to Charming lost in thought over this latest discovery about his old lady.

'Damn women. Just about the time you think you have them pegged, they go and surprise the shit out of you' he thought to himself. 'Damn!"

He replayed her admission to having her own mental health issues and getting treatment. Cat had a point about how people reacted to mental illness.

He couldn't count the number of times his club brothers had questioned his sanity. He knew he wasn't completely balanced, but he also wasn't insane. He couldn't fathom having to live every day with an overwhelming fear of losing his hold on his sanity.

Cat had lived with such a possibility every day of her life for years and had taken steps to prevent it from happening. It seemed to be her greatest fear, other than losing him when he learned of her problem.

Although it seemed impossible, his respect and admiration for her had increased. That strong urge to protect her, to be with her in a great time of need was overwhelming. All he could do was give her an envelope of money to take with her.

Sometimes he wondered if the needs of the club was worth it. This was one of those times.

Every part of him wanted to be on the plane, but he had obligations to the club. Any other woman would've pitched a bitch about him staying behind.

He knew that she really wanted him to go with her, but she'd refused to give voice to that wish. She'd put on a brave facade so that_ he_ wouldn't feel bad about letting her go without him.

He was definitely lucky to have her in his life. If she were to fall victim to her mother's mental illness, he'd do everything he could to help her fight it. If her husband could love her enough to stand by her all those years, he could do just as much. As far as he was concerned, he was in this for the long haul.

Cat spent the flight sipping black coffee and jotting a list of all that would need to be done to close her mother's affairs.

She already missed Alex's strong, steady presence. It had been hard to admit to the secret she'd kept. Now that it was out in the open, she felt better. He'd shown he was willing to stand by her despite her demons

Upon touching down in Indianapolis, she picked up the rental she'd reserved and drove across town to the Holiday Inn about five miles from her mother's apartment. She unpacked, left a message for Trager, then drove to the rental office to get the key to her mother's apartment.

Mrs. York leaped from her chair to embrace Cat when she entered the office. "I'm glad you're safe and sound, honey," Mrs York exclaimed. "I also got the information on your mother's burial."

She copied the information, the cemetery wasn't that far from the hotel. "I see they're not wasting much time about the burial."

"The county usually doesn't. I'm going to be there tomorrow, by the way."

Cat felt a surge of affection for the older woman. "I don't want you to feel you have to attend."

"I _want _to be there. Your mother couldn't help herself, and you're my friend. Now, tell me, how's life in California?"

Cat filled her in on the coffee shop, and gave her an edited version of her life in Charming.

"I'm at peace with Life," she concluded, "something I probably wouldn't have found here."

"You look well. I worried when you packed up and moved so far away. I'm glad it worked out. Incidentally, we'll have to change over that bank account you set up for your mother's rent We can do that tomorrow after the service."

Cat closed her eyes for a moment. She forgot all about that frackin' thing.

"Let's just see how much has to be done to rehabilitate the apartment. I want to pay for that. You shouldn't have to absorb that as a part of doing business."

"It's not as bad as you think. We were able to keep things up for her than she did at the other apartment. Having a case worker coming every week helped keep her on track."

"I guess we'll see tomorrow. Somehow, I doubt the case worker's visit made a difference." Cat rose from her chair, hugged her friend, and left the office to go shopping for things she'd need to close out her mother's personal items.

When Trager called that night, she filled him in on the latest news about the service. She also mentioned visiting with friends from the Indy Tarts and Tartans group, the Gerard Butler fan club she'd belonged to before her move. Though the fan group couldn't be present for the burial, they'd managed to come together to take her to dinner and present the traditional black ribbon wrapped red rose and card.

"Sounds like a bunch of good friends back there. It's good to know you're not totally alone," he remarked.

"They are. They helped keep me sane after Bill died. God, I wish this was already behind me."

That heavy weight was back in her voice and it made Trager feel helpless. There was nothing he could do to help her except to listen. He was a man of action and in a situation where he couldn't act. Trying to find something to say, he asked about her mother's cause of death. "Did you find out how she died?"

"The official cause was a heart attack. She had all kinds of health problems including cancer. I suspect that her body just gave out. I'll be glad when tomorrow's over with."

That flat tone to her voice cut him to the quick. Though he didn't want to end the call, he didn't want to tire her out.

"You sound wrecked, babe. Call me if you need to, no matter what time it is,"

"I'll keep that in mind, but don't wait up for a call. Take care, love."

The hotel wake up call seemed to come a few minutes after Trager's, though she knew it had been a few hours. She'd not expected to sleep the night. She showered and dressed for the burial service. After some coffee she visited a nearby floral shop that carried a particular flower she wanted for the grave site.

She arrived a few minutes before Mrs. York, and introduced herself to the funeral staff. She found that her father had called a minister friend in the city to do a prayer service. It touched her that her father would show such care for someone who had pushed him aside so cruelly years ago.

She placed the small spray of blue roses she'd purchased on the plain wood coffin, just as Mrs. York arrived.

"What lovely flowers!"

"Mother wrote a series of fan novels back in the 70's related to Star Trek," she explained. "The main character found a planet that had blue roses; I thought these would be fitting."

The two way phone buzzed in her pocket and she considered not answering, but excused herself momentarily. "Alex, is everything all right?" she asked worriedly.

"Everything's fine, babe. I just wanted to be with you, even though I can't be **with** you."

Her eyes filled with tears at this unexpected gesture, especially considering how early it still was in California.

"Just keep the phone open for me," he added.

She slipped the phone in her coat pocket, keeping it so he could hear, and joined Mrs. Hair and the minister.

The minister conducted the standard grave side service as he had no first hand knowledge of Cat's mother. He did offer a chance for the women to share remembrances.

Mrs. York spoke of how she'd often enjoyed talking with Mrs. Humphrey, as Cat's mom called herself after the divorce, about religion and life.

Cat couldn't find anything she could share. She'd been mourning the loss of her mother for years. The body in the coffin was just a shell to her. Yet, she was expected to do something more than the roses.

Then it came to her, and she sang "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again," from _Phantom of the Opera_. Her voice stayed strong until the last line when it cracked at the second "help me say goodbye."

Mrs. York had tears in her eyes from the rendering, and the minister brought the service to a close. The plain wooden box was lowered to the ground and covered with dirt.

Cat lay the spray of blue roses on the mound, selecting a few buds which she gave to Mrs. York and her staff and one she kept for herself.

"Tell the guys from maintenance that I'll meet them at the apartment in an hour."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Let's get this done."

She returned to her rental and sat for a moment, her head pounding with the beginnings of a migraine. She dimly heard her name being called, then remembered the cell was still engaged.

She pulled the phone from her coat pocket. "Alex, you've been there all this time?"

"Still here, but I should be there," he replied, his voice a little hoarse. He'd been touched by her heartfelt goodbye to her mother, by the pure love and regret her voice conveyed.

"But you were, right next to my heart, in my pocket. It was the best you could do under the circumstances, and you didn't have to.'

"Yes I did." His voice warned her not to debate the point. "Be safe, Cat. I'll call you later."

After changing, she drove to her mother's apartment. She'd never been to it in the years her mother had lived there. There were only four rooms to it, a straight passage from front to back.

The smell that wafted out the door was worse than she'd anticipated. She'd heard reports that her mother wasn't one for bathing regularly and she kept the apartment closed up all year long. That was evident from the atmosphere of the apartment. She took a deep breath and ran through to open doors and windows to let in fresh air.

"Should've gotten some of those painters masks," she remarked to herself, panting at the front porch and waiting for fresh air to circulate. At least having the heat off and everything open would help the workers.

She checked through the apartment, looking for the things she wanted to keep. There were video tapes, records, books, clothes and all manner of things all over. She placed the things she wanted on the porch, doused them with Lysol, and left them to dry in the open air.

Most of the furnishings had been there for years and were beyond redemption. They would have to be pitched. The yard was sectioned off into piles; things to be pitched and things that might be cleaned and donated. A few other treasures joined the pile of items Cat wanted to keep.

They worked through the afternoon and eventually had the apartment cleared of things. The cleaning crew could now clean, paint and prepare the apartment for a new tenant.

Cat surveyed the pile of possible donations. She was just too tired to clean them. Though she hated the waste, she and the workmen threw everything into the dump truck to be hauled away.

She tipped the workers for all their endeavors, even though it was their job. Then she wrapped the treated items in plastic wrap to enable the Lysol to do its' work.

She was sick and filthy, and her migraine was worse. She hadn't eaten much during the day, now the thought of food made her nauseous. All she wanted was a hot bath and an ice pack for her head. She wrapped the work clothes in a plastic bag. Then she threw them in the trash can near the pop machines. They were clothes she didn't really care for and wouldn't miss.

She showered for what seemed hours, until her skin was raw and red and there was no more hot water. She lay on the bed and was out like a light. Though both the room phone and the two cell phones rang regularly, she was too tired and sick to answer. She knew she should call her father and Alex, but inertia had set in.

Trager stifled an urge to throw the phone across his room. He'd called Cat for the fifth time, only to hear ringing until the voice mail picked up. He'd already left two messages. What was going on?

As if enough shit hadn't already hit the fan, he'd returned to Charming to find out that one of the town's children had been sexually abused by a visiting carnival worker. That in itself was enough to make him sick to his stomach. He might be strange where sex was concerned, but children were off limits.

The child's father, a very prominent citizen named Elliot Oakland begged the MC for help. He wanted to find the pervert and give him his just desserts in order to save his daughter the trauma of a trial. That was just up Trager's alley. He needed to work off a little steam as it was. The latent worry about Cat was adding to his overall testiness.

It wasn't hard for them to find the carnival worker in question. When it came time to put words into action, however, Oakland couldn't do MC did his dirty work for him. The perverted carny wouldn't get his jollies on anyone else's child. Trager wanted to kick the asshole where he was already hurting, but he held himself in check.

On their return to the clubhouse, Trager intended to sneak in another call. His attention was taken up with the gun shipment from their new IRA connection. There was a change in the agreement to contend with, which didn't set well with any of SAMCRO. They were caught by the short hairs, and their connection knew it.

It was very early morning by the time Trager got a chance to check the phone, and still no message. He called and left his third message for Cat, hoping she was ok.

He was tired, bone weary, and only intended to nap for a few moments. He was so sound asleep that he didn't hear the phone ring a few hours later.

Cat slept a full 14 hours. When she awoke, the cell phones were vibrating, and the red message light was flashing on the bedside phone. She checked the hotel voice mail; messages from Mrs. York and her father, letting them know they were there for her. Her cell voice mail had a message from her uncles, while the two way had three from Alex. The third and final made her smile.

"You really like to make a man work to get your attention, don't you, woman?" came the familiar growling he'd make when he was frustrated.

She called him back, only to get his voice mail in return. "Hey, love, it's me. Sorry to be incommunicado. I had a really bad migraine last night and just woke up. I'll be heading' to Daddy's tonight. See ya"

That done, she called her father and told him she'd be home in a few hours. "I'm fine, just tired. At least it's all behind me now. Love you."

It didn't take long to load up the car and check out. She drove to the cemetery to arrange for a headstone for her mother's grave, then stopped at Mrs. York's office to leave the key and say goodbye.

She decided to have whatever was left from rehabilitating the apartment put into an account in the local bank in her name.

"I'll just consider it emergency money to draw on. If it's here, it won't be so easy to get to on a whim," she explained to Mrs. York.

"Will you ever be back?"

"I don't know. But if you find yourself in California, be sure to look me up."

The women embraced one last time, then Cat climbed into her rental. But she was far from finished with Indianapolis. She drove to another cemetery, where her husband's grave was located. Her last visit had been just before her move.

"Hey, Pookie. It's been a long time. You're still with me in my heart and you know what's been going on. Guess I just wanted to touch base in some way, and assure you that you've not been replaced. But you already knew that."

She sat on the ground in front of the marker and reached out a hand to touch it. It bore only his name and the dates of birth and death. It didn't tell the story of his life; his military service or his murder that was still unsolved.

"You're probably wondering what in the world has my wife been smoking to get involved with someone like Alex. If you've been watching, you know that he cares for me, and he's been good to me.

"It's a strange relationship, as he has one life with me, and one life with the motorcycle club. It seems to work. I know you want me to be happy, and if it helps, I still miss you every day.

"Guess you know Mom's gone home. Hopefully she's up there with you, and is having a better time than she did in this Life. Give the furbabies there a pet for me. I love you. I miss you."

She sat for some time. She felt she'd said all that needed to be said. She felt at peace with herself and her place in the world. She kissed the marker, lay the blue rose on it and rose to her feet. No matter where she went, a small piece of her heart remained in that grave with him.

Three hours later, she arrived at her father's, to be met with a hug and a meal. They didn't talk about the burial.

A companionable evening was spent watching the Cubs on tv, her father napping once in a while.

After her father retired for the night, she found a book to interest her and allowed herself to be lulled by the ticking clock.

The clock chimed three when the two way buzzed, startling her awake. "Good morning! " she chirped.

"Damn, it's good to hear your voice instead of that recording. How do you feel?"

"Better. Tired still, but better. Daddy's been great. We watched the Cubs. They lost."

His laugh rumbled in her ear. "Nothing unusual there."

"Hey, be respectful! Being a die hard Cub fan is hard work!"

"You've remembered how to laugh. I've missed your laugh. I miss you."

"Well, it _was _originally your idea for me to make this trip," she replied. "Course, we never thought it would end up like it did. Everything ok?

"Yeah. Just the usual club business. It weirded me out when you didn't answer last night. It was the first time you'd never answered. It'll be good to have you back."

"Miss you too, love. Later."

The remainder of her visit with her father included time with her stepbrother and stepmom, plus her aunt and cousins came up from the Louisville area for a day.

Her mother was never mentioned, and the family enjoyed her stories, albeit edited a bit, about California life.

She opted to mail the items she'd saved from her mother's home; as flat rate shipping from the post office was available and inexpensive. The package would arrive the day after her return to Charming.

During the return flight, she found herself looking forward to seeing Alex again, and the cats, and her home.

As she collected her bag from the carousel, the two way cell started buzzing. "You're timing is purrfect, as always."

"It sure is, kitten. Turn around."

She spun to find him directly behind her and ran into his embrace.

"Welcome back, Cat."

"Either you snuck your knife in here, or you must be glad to see me," she grinned impishly.

"C'mon with me, woman, and you'll see how glad I am to see you!"

LIfe returned to its' normal routine. The shop continued to thrive, as did Cat and Trager's relationship.

Gemma approached Cat about providing coffee and snacks for a charity fund raiser she was putting together, which she was glad to help had been a few tense moments when a former Son, the one who had caused Opie to be imprisoned, made an appearance, but level heads prevailed, and no fights ensued.

The Sons made a journey to Nevada, which resulted in the 'patch over' of a club called the Devil's Tribe. This gave the Sons a good source of help with the Mayan club, which had been giving the Sons and the Tribe some difficulties.

Trager returned from that road trip with a nasty dog bite that worried Cat, as there was no way to know if the dog had been vaccinated. He didn't tell her how he got bit, and he refused to go to any doctor about it. She tended it as best she could, and when Trager didn't show any signs of turning rabid, she relaxed.

The VP of the club, Jax Teller and his ex-wife Wendy welcomed a baby, but the little one was in grave physical danger due to his mother being a drug addict. The baby was admitted to the neonatal ICU, following surgery for a congenital defect. That enabled Jax to renew his romance with the baby's doctor, an old girlfriend. That was enough to upset Gemma, but what really hurt the club was that two ATF agents were sniffing around Charming. One of the agents knew the doctor, Tara Knowles.

A few months had passed since Cat's return from Indiana. As was often the case, Trager had come in late. She was drifting in that place between sleep and wakefulness when he joined her in the bed.

"Hey, Cat, I've been thinking," his warm breath tickled her ear.

"Oh, oh! Look out!" she snorted.

Trager raised himself up on one elbow to give her 'the look. It wasn't nearly as effective when he wasn't peering over his sunglasses at her.

"Damn, woman! I'm trying to be serious here."

Her eyebrow made it's usual upward sweep, but she sat up, her expression contrite. "I'm all attention," she replied.

"Hell with it. You've spoiled the mood," he replied, just a bit petulantly.

She reached out to him, her hand stroking one side of his face. "I'm sorry, Alex. Please tell me what's on your mind."

Though her voice sounded properly apologetic, there was a certain gleam in her eye that he knew all too well. "Damn you. I should just get up and walk out of here, but you know I can't."

He sat up, leaning against the headboard. He wanted to maintain his wounded pride, and continued to glare at her. Sometimes, Cat had a tendency to make light of things at the wrong time. This was one of those times.

She realized that she'd gone a little overboard and offered a sincere apology. "I'm sorry, Alex. You're right to be pissed. Forgive me?"

"You know I do. I've been thinking that it's time to make this a more permanent arrangement."

Her heart skipped a few beats. 'No,' she thought to herself, 'he can't mean **that.**' She took a deep breath and replied, "You mean you want to c-come out of the cl-closet?"

He didn't miss the stammer. Trager knew what she was thinking, and she was right. He owed her just a little bit of payback for the teasing.

"I don't know about you, this keeping stuff on the down low is fine for the kids. I need more than a few hours snatched here and there."

"Oh - kay. What did you have in mind?" She was trying very hard not to let her disappointment show; she almost had him convinced.

"Oh, I was thinking about you and me living in one place."

"I see. As in living together," she replied flatly.

"We're practically doing that now. Why not go for it?"

Well, he had her there. She still held no illusions about his life with the club. She'd learned more about it, but only what Trager chose to tell her.

"There's bound to be some repercussions from the club for keeping them in the dark."

"What I do on my time is my business, not theirs," he replied, the grin she called his 'got ya' one crossing his face.

"There's not much they can say or do about it if you officially change your last name to mine."

"There's only one way I'd do that, and it ain't by petitioning the courts—" she broke off, her eyes widening as the meaning of his words sunk in.

"No way!" She cried.

"Way. Unless you're saying that the idea doesn't interest you?"

She flung a pillow at him. "Yes, it interests me, but I didn't think it would ever interest you."

He caught the pillow with ease, moving it to one side where it couldn't be used to pummel him again.

"It didn't. You women aren't the only members of the species that can change their minds, y'know. You still haven't told me what you think, or is no way your answer?"

"Hell no!" She exclaimed, kissing him soundly. When she came up for air, she said "Hell, yes! Oh Hell, yes!"

They held each other close. Cat was so quiet for so long that Trager thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Alex, a thought occurred to me. You may not like it, but hear me out." She explained her sudden idea that they not make their marriage public, but just announce they'd decided to live together.

"Let's face it, with the situation with the Mayan club, and your position in the MC, having a wife would make both of us vulnerable. This way, you can still do what you have to do without worrying about me."

She was right that he didn't like it, but she also had a point about her being a target by being known as his wife.

"Is that what you really want, Cat?"

"Nothing will make me more proud than belonging to you - legally - instead of just being known as your 'old lady. But we're no longer going to be able to keep the club separate. I can live with it as a part of our life on a 'need to know' basis. I'm not strong like Gemma, but I'm not going to break your balls like Donna, either."

"Damn, Cat. It's no wonder you're such a treasure to me. What you're saying makes a lot of sense. Course, this means a SAMCRO wedding is out of the question. How do you feel about Vegas?"

"Not an Elvis impersonator, I hope!"

"No, just a regular minister. Nothin' fancy, just us and the preacher and a witness at some little chapel."

"It sounds like a plan to me, 'old man'".

"You are a brat!" He kissed her soundly. "Old lady!"

Later the following day, Trager asked Clay to meet him in the club's chapel, the meeting room they used to discuss club business and sometimes hold private conversations.

"Just wanted to let you know I'm not going to be around Friday night until sometime Monday," Trager announced.

Clay puffed on his cigar for a few moments. "Personal business, I take it."

"Yeah."

Clay considered the burning end of his cigar for several moments before speaking.

"About time you made an honest woman of Cat."

Trager glared at his old friend. How in Hell did he know? Had they been** that **transparent?

"Relax, brother. I've seen this coming for a long time. You've got that same look about you that I have for Gemma. . No one who hasn't found the right woman has any idea. Your secret is safe with me. I'm a little surprised, though."

Trager relaxed at his friend's assurance. "It surprised me, too. I never thought there was a woman out there I could put up with for any length of time, much less want to marry. Cat – well, she's special. She's decent, Clay. I need that."

"It's about time, brother. Just don't go getting all decent on me, though. I need you be a bit indecent."

"No worries there."

"Does she know what she's getting into?"

Trager nodded, "We're not going public about getting married. As far as everyone else is concerned we're shacking up. She came up with this idea, said it was the best way to enable me to do what I have to do without worrying someone would take after her to get at me."

Clay nodded. "She's right. She's smart. So she's not going to give you any shit about the club."

"No. She seems content to know what I feel she needs to know. She's not going to bust my balls."

"You picked yourself a winner, Tig. She's welcome to the family, as your wife and your old lady."

The pair stood, embraced and thumped each other's backs. "It's a beautiful thing to have a woman you can depend on. Cat's a rare one, she's always been straight with SAMCRO, and a lot of the guys like her. Don't worry about the time away, you deserve it. When you get back, we'll have you two over to our house to celebrate."

Though their road trip wasn't until the weekend, Trager and Cat went ahead with their new arrangement.

It didn't take long for him to move his possessions to her house. What he had fit in the PT in two trips.

The one good thing about 'coming out' was that they didn't have to pretend any longer. Though they didn't indulge in overly demonstrative displays of affection in public, it was obvious to all and sundry that they were an item.

The MC, though surprised that Trager had selected a steady girlfriend, weren't displeased with his choice in Cat. They liked and respected her and if she could handle Tig, more power to her.

"Lady Cat, ye've definitely got yer hands full with that one!" Chibs exclaimed when he heard the news.

"I thought somethin' might be goin' on between the pair of yer, and if yer happy with 'im, that's fine. Frankly, I think yer too good fer the likes o' im."

"Now, Chibs," she admonished good naturedly, "Tig does have his good points. Sometimes one has to look hard and use a magnifying glass, but they're there."

"Ye love 'im, don't ya, lass?" Chibs put an avuncular arm around her shoulder. "Ye'll take gud care o' im, and he'd damn better take gud care o'ye, or he'll answer to me!"

Cat returned his embrace, and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Chibs."

The drive to Las Vegas, like all their outings, was spent in companionable, though nervous silence. Cat had never seen the desert, but after a few miles of unending sand and asphalt, decided that desert wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

They made it to Vegas by evening. Trager had made reservations at a nice hotel not too far from the infamous strip. Though Vegas was a 24 hour town, they'd agreed to have their ceremony the following day, so there wouldn't be a rush.

They checked out the casinos, but the noise got on both their nerves after awhile, though Trager did win a few hundred at the slots. They had dinner, and walked around outside the hotel. Everywhere they went, there were some people who shied away from them due to Trager's SAMCRO vest. Though he ignored the snubs, Cat wasn't as forgiving, and often stared down the offenders. The more aggravated she became, the more antsy she got. Trager felt it would be best for them to return to their room before she took on all of Vegas.

For a wedding present, he had obtained tickets to what was called_ The Phantom of the Opera _extravaganza. He knew Cat loved the movie and the stage play. He'd never seen it, but he'd sit through it this one time for her sake.

He also had a surprise for her for the ceremony. He had purchased a pair of dress pants and jacket. He'd briefly considered a tie, but hated the idea of having anything like that around his neck. He even dispensed with his motorcycle boots for a pair of dress shoes.

As he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, he knew Cat would appreciate the effort, even if he felt a little strange.

Cat was having some of the same attire issues. She had obtained a white knee length dress with a full skirt. She had white suede knee boots and a white hat. She hadn't worn a dress since her last wedding, and she felt exposed. She wanted to make this a special occasion for Alex, and if that meant she had to feel a little like a fish out of water, she'd do it.

Trager took his place at the altar of the small chapel. Unlike many of the matrimonial factories in Vegas, this was an actual small church, so there was none of the usual gimmickry. He'd seen pictures of some of the churches Cat's father had served, he felt it would make her happy to be wed in a similar setting.

The organist, who was also the preacher's wife, pumped a fanfare. He turned to behold a vision in white that took his breath away. There was his woman attired in a _dress_, walking down the aisle to him. He was stunned.

Cat was impressed by the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle. She'd never thought that Trager would clean up that nicely. Her heart fluttered like a teenager's at the sight of him.

Trager stepped forward to meet her, held out his arm for her to take, and escorted her the remainder of the way to the minister.

"Cat, you look gorgeous!" he whispered appreciatively.

"You look pretty dashing yourself, love," she replied, her voice almost a purr.

The ceremony was short. They'd elected to use the tried and true vows. Before pronouncing them man and wife, the minister stated, "Your bride requested that she read this passage to you. It's from the Old Testament, the Book of Ruth, Chapter 1, Verse 16."

Cat accepted the Bible from the minister and turned back to Trager.

"Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you. For where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge. _Your people will be my people_. Where you die, will I die, and there will I be buried. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part you and me."

She closed the Bible, returned it to the minister, and placed her hands back in Trager's shaking ones. She knew he'd caught her message from the passage.

"By the authority vested in me by the state of Nevada and by God, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Mr. Trager."

Trager raised his hands to cup Cat's face, much as he had that first night he'd come to her. Almost reverently, his hands and lips trembling with emotion, they sealed their vows with the traditional kiss.

The minister shook hands with the couple, providing them with a signed copy of their marriage license, as the organist came forward with a newly burned DVD.

The minister and his wife showered them with flower petals as they left the chapel. Trager felt like he was walking on air. If he died that night, he didn't think he'd ever been happier.

Cat remained in awe of the effort Trager had put into his attire. She'd grown used to his jeans and boots and leather. She'd never considered that he would have worn anything else. That he'd gone to such an effort for her touched her deeply.

"Well, we did it, wife."

"I like the sound of that, love."

"Get used to it, cause you're going to hear it quite a bit from me," he replied.

He stopped her right in the middle of the sidewalk and kissed her soundly "You're beautiful in that dress. I've never seen you wear one."

"I'm glad you like it. I wanted this day to be memorable for you."

"You succeeded."

"So did you. I know you must be as uncomfortable as all get out, but I thank you for it. So, what now, husband," Cat added. "Wanna go get changed into something more comfortable?"

"No," he stepped into the street, flagged down a taxi, and helped her into it. He gave the driver the location of the hotel where the Phantom extravaganza was playing.

"That's not our hotel."

"No, it's not. Just wait. It's your present."

She gazed at the plain gold band on her finger as they traveled. The ring her husband had placed there not too long ago. There was a small stone in the center of it.

He also looked over the gold band now on his hand. It felt as comfortable to him as his bike rings. Cat had ordered a blue topaz insert in the ring, her birth stone. It meant the world to him, that small bit of metal, and he didn't want to remove it for any reason.

She gasped in amazement when they drew up to the hotel and she saw the marquee. Trager had never shown an interest in the fine arts, for him to indulge her passion for the_ Phantom of the Opera _in this manner nearly made her cry.

Including the intermission, the show was two and a half hours. He wasn't bored, especially when the large chandelier swept over their heads.

Trager found himself more able to identify with the Phantom than he had before. Like him, the Phantom yearned for love long denied. Unlike the Phantom, Trager had gotten the girl. Though he hadn't expected to, he enjoyed the program.

They returned to the hotel where her husband insisted on the time honored tradition of carrying her over the threshold.

He shrugged out of the suit jacket with a sigh of relief. The white shirt set off his tan, and made Cat's heart beat a little faster. She couldn't understand why she felt as shy with him as that very first night. After all the time they'd spent together, she shouldn't be feeling so, well, like a first timer.

"Alex, why don't you get yourself comfortable, and I'll be with you shortly. Maybe there's beer in the honor bar." She disappeared into the bathroom.

He lost no time in shucking out of the dress slacks. Tomorrow he'd be back in his jeans and boots, but the minor discomfort the dress clothes had given him had been worth making the day special. He found the beer and took a long swallow. He was feeling more like himself. He slid between the sheets and turned on the tv, looking for something of interest.

Cat exited the bathroom wearing a long nightgown of sheer black. Trager gave a low whistle. She'd been stunning in white, but black was definitely her color

She climbed into the bed beside him, cuddling with her head on his chest.

"Hello, husband."

He tipped her face to meet his. "Hello, wife."

They slept in the following morning. They had a room service breakfast, and considered what to do for the rest of the day.

Trager had some definite ideas on that where the bed was concerned. While Cat was willing, they realized that they couldn't spend the whole day in bed.

As far as sightseeing was concerned, Cat was against it. She wasn't going to ask him not to wear his vest, and she didn't want to spoil the mood by getting angry over the stares and fear of the mundanes. Besides, she'd already seen the best thing in Vegas, thanks to Alex, and neither of them were interested in gambling.

Vegas just wasn't the best vacation spot for them. Their wedding had been the highpoint, anything else wouldn't be able to compare, so they decided to go home.

Upon their return to Charming and unloading the car, they again contemplated what to do with their free time. Minutes later his blue Harley and her black Yamaha were speeding out of Charming, off on one of their jaunts.

Trager did take a couple of minutes to call Clay to let him know they were back in town. "Vegas is really nuts. They freaked out at the sight of my vest and it really pissed off Cat."

"Did she take the baseball bat to 'em?"

Trager laughed at that idea. "No, I talked her into leaving it here. But she still managed to put a few people in their place. Cat was beautiful. They gave us a DVD of the thing. She added this reading at the end that really cemented the deal."

"Glad to hear it. As far as the club's concerned, you're still on R and R."

"Great. Why don't you and Gemma come over later for dinner?"

"Don't you have to check with the old lady first?"

"Shit, man! You know better! See you about 8."

Clay shut the cell phone and caught his wife's inquiring gaze. "We've got an invite out tonight for dinner," he announced.

"Oh, where?"

"Cat and Tig's place. They're back from Vegas. They got married yesterday."

Gemma's eyes widened with surprise. "Ho-ly shit! Tig – settling down with **one** woman? Im-possible!"

Clay laughed at his wife's reaction. "A man will do a lot for the right woman. I ought to know."

Gemma shook her head in wonder and surprise. Tig, married. Cat must be one hell of a woman to make that miracle happen.

"It's just you and me who know this," Clay added. "As far as the rest of the world is concerned, they're shacking up. Cat's idea, by the way."

Gemma found her respect and awe of Tig's woman growing by leaps and bounds.

"I think I'll give her a call, see if she wants us to bring anything. Knowing Tig, he just made the invite without telling her."

"Ow!" Clay replied, wincing at Gemma's barb.

Cat took the news of the impromptu dinner party fairly stoically, though she was a little dismayed by the short heads up. If Alex wanted to invite guests, he certainly didn't have to ask her permission, but more than a few hours lead time would've been nice.

"Hope they don't expect a gourmet dinner," she warned. "That needs at least a day's notice. In this case, all y'all will have to make do with steak, taters, and salad."

Alex caught the underlying admonishment in her comment. He had the grace to feel momentarily contrite about not having cleared the dinner with her first.

It didn't take long for Cat to get things started for the dinner, once they got back home. The steaks could marinate as they thawed; a salad only required her opening a bag, and it certainly didn't take long to wrap the potatoes in foil.

Her cell rang just as she finished wrapping the last spud.

"Cat here."

"Hi, it's Gemma. It appears that our fellas have planned our evening for us."

Cat glared at her husband, who was doing his best to look innocent. "Yeah, that's my understanding too. Sorry it got sprung on you, Gemma."

"What can I bring to the table?"

"The beer."

Gemma laughed at that "My girl! You're learning. I'll bring something for dessert as well."

Cat turned off her phone, glaring again at Trager.

"What?"

"Men!," she snorted.

"What'd I do?"

"Nothin', love. Everything's under control."

She grabbed her tape player and headed to the back yard. She was getting nervous, and decided that a Tai Chi workout would help. She wasn't concerned about leaving Trager to his own devices. She'd learned during her first marriage that it wasn't necessary to live in each other's pockets all the time.

Trager would have his pursuits, she would have hers, and they'd have theirs. Tai Chi was one of _her_ pursuits.

She started the tape and assumed the opening position, breathing deeply and stretching. Even though it'd been awhile since her last workout, the warm ups and the moves were as familiar to her as breathing.

Tai Chi had been something she and her best friend had gotten into years earlier. It started as an exercise program for them, and became a part of Cat's daily routine after June moved. It restored her mind, body and spirit. She soon lost herself to the movements and the breathing. Keeping her eyes closed, she let her body and her mind glide through the various forms.

Trager stepped out to the back porch and leaned against one of the railings. He was curious as to what his wife was doing. The movements seemed to have a purpose, and looked like some kind of martial arts.

He wasn't much into what he termed Kung Phooey. His fists and a gun were his weapons of choice. He didn't see a lot of self defense to this exercise, though there were several kicks and punches involved that could cause someone a bit of discomfort if on the receiving end.

The routine lasted quite some time, as Cat made four repetitions of the movements, facing all four directions of the compass. She brought the exercise to an end by raising both hands high over her head, breathing deeply as she did so. Then she exhaled, bringing her hands down to belt level.

She remained standing still for a few more moments, hands to her sides. "You can come out now, it's safe," she called.

Trager approached her, noting that she seemed a little less nervous than before she started the workout. "What **was** all that?"

She explained the philosophy of Tai Chi to him as her instructor had done years ago.

"It's not intended as a fighting form, especially as far as competition is concerned. It's more for the inner self. I do it to stay flexible and to help clear my mind. There's also the exercise involved."

"Looks to me like some of those punches and kicks could do some damage," he replied.

"They could be utilized that way. There's another part of the exercise called 'Push Hands'. I haven't been able to do it for some time, as you need a partner."

"What's 'Push Hands'?"

"It'll be easier if I show you instead of tell you," she replied. "If you're interested, that is."

"What do you want me to do?"

She stood in front of him, slightly to one side, with one foot behind her and one directly ahead of her. "Stand in front me, just like this."

When he complied, she raised his hand directly in front of him, indicating that he should hold the palm away from his face at an angle. She brought the back of her hand up against the back of his, her palm facing out. She pushed against the back of his hand, and he resisted. She shook her head. "No, don't resist, let my hand push yours to about your shoulder, then push your hand back against mine."

When their hands reached his shoulder level, he did push back, moving her palm back towards her shoulder, and she reciprocated. She took deep breaths, instructed him to do likewise.

As he breathed and moved, it felt to Trager as if he was more aware of the blood flowing in his veins, of his heart pumping and lungs taking air in and letting it out. "Wow!"

"Yeah, that's the way it's supposed to feel." She stopped and reversed both her position and her hand, and he followed suit. They resumed the exercise for a few more minutes, then Cat brought it to an end.

"So that's 'Push Hands', eh? What's the purpose to it?"

"It's just another way of training. It helps you concentrate on your opponent so that you might be able to anticipate his or her moves."

She stepped forward, her arms encircling his waist, her head pillowed on his chest. She was content, and he could feel that she was completely relaxed.

"Think you might be up to a little more close quarter exercise, inside?" Trager asked.

"If you don't mind the fact that I'm already pretty well warmed up," she replied, walking with him into the house.

The steaks were defrosted and well marinated. The potatoes were baking, and the salad chilling. The table was set and ready.

Cat loaded the CD player with various CDs including Seger, Mellencamp, Springsteen, Meat Loaf and Jim Steinman's 'Bad for Good'. She figured that those would set the right mood.

She tried not to pace, but she was still a little nervous. Gemma was ok, but she'd never met Clay Morrow, and he was Alex's best friend. It was important to her that everything go well. This was their first get-together as a couple, and she wanted to make Alex proud.

"Relax, babe. Clay doesn't bite. At least not right away," Trager assured her, sensing the reason for her nervousness. "Besides, he'd have to get through me, so you're safe."

He kissed her soundly, groaning with annoyance when the doorbell rang.

"Showtime!" Cat murmured as she opened the door and invited the Morrows in.

Clay carried a case of beer, which Trager promptly put in the fridge, after extracting four for starters.

Gemma carried a bakery box, which she placed on the kitchen counter. "I didn't get enough notice to bake," she joked.

"That makes two of us," Cat replied wryly, casting a sideways glare at her husband, who pretended to be wounded in the heart. To her horror, she realized they were still wearing their rings!

"It's ok, Cat. We know," Gemma hastened to reassure her. "Tig told Clay, who just told me today. Congratulations to the both of you."

Cat felt her cheeks flush, but she was relieved that they just hadn't committed a major blunder.

Clay cast an inquiring glance at Trager, who nodded, "If it's okay with Cat, it's ok with me if you kiss the bride. No tongues, though."

Gemma stepped over to Trager and gave him a brief hug, as Clay moved over to Cat and did likewise, chastely kissing her cheek.

"Welcome to the family, Cat. Tig says you're the one who came up with the cover story. That's the kind of thinking we need from our women," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Morrow," she replied.

Clay's eyes widened with surprise and mock dismay. "Good God, girl! Mr. Morrow was my dad! Please, call me Clay."

Trager could tell that Clay was impressed with his wife's old fashioned show of respect.

"Cat, may I borrow him for a few moments, while you two see about dinner?"

Cat and Gemma glared daggers at him, as Clay laughed and followed Trager out to the back yard.

"Well, Hell! Now I'll have to burn my feminists' membership card!" Cat grumbled.

Morrow and Trager lit up once they got out to the back yard.

"We've got a meet with Colin Hayes tomorrow night about the guns," Clay stated.

"I'm ready to get back to work," Tig assured him.

"I don't doubt it. The ATF has been sniffing around again, trying to find something to use to hang on us.."

"Fuck them! There's nothing they can do about us, everything's covered."

They continued smoking and discussing the details of the following night's meeting with Hayes and the ATF.

Cat flipped the steaks over, one eye on the men in the yard. "They're wasting no time getting down to business."

"It's what they do, Cat. You're walking a very difficult line, aren't you?"

"How do you mean, Gemma?"

"You love Tig, I can tell. He loves you because of who you are. If you were to embrace all that the club is, you'll lose that special part of yourself. It's going to be tough for you, knowing only what he tells you when there's more going on. I don't know how you're going to be able to do it."

"You're not as supportive of that doctor Jax has his eye on," Cat remarked.

"That's because she hurt my son big time a few years ago, and I'm not going to let that happen again."

"Sorry," Cat replied contritely. "I didn't know."

"I'll help you anyway I can, because you're good for Tig, and he's good for you. I just don't envy you."

The men returned to the house, and dinner commenced. Both Morrows noticed that Cat ate much less than any of them, and her beer remained untouched.

"I had stomach stapling surgery several years ago," she explained when she noticed their questioning glances. "I don't have the capacity to eat a lot, and can't handle the sugars in alcohol. The beer won't go to waste," she added, as Trager reached over to retrieve her untouched bottle.

After giving a brief tour of the house, the Morrows asked to view the wedding DVD. A pair of wolf whistles greeted Trager's appearance in his wedding finery, and Trager squeezed her hand when he saw her walking down the aisle to him once again.

Clay and Gemma exchanged knowing glances at the Bible reading. The present that Cat gave him was loud and clear.

Once the DVD ended, Gemma un boxed the cake and placed a wedding topper on it.

"Since you didn't get a reception, we wanted to give you a part of the tradition," she said, handing Cat a serving knife. "If I'd known about your surgery, I'd have gotten something sugar free."

"Don't worry, Gemma. I don't think a small taste is going to hurt me."

Cat had never liked the idea of smearing cake all over someone's face, and her expression warned Trager not to consider it.

They fed each other a piece of cake as Gemma took pictures with her digital camera, which Cat downloaded on the computer.

The Morrows took their leave a little later. Cat rinsed the remainder of the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher as Trager took care of the empty bottles.

"I've never been able to understand why you wash 'em before putting them in that machine," he remarked.

"I learned a long time ago, love, that if the gunk is rinsed off, gunk doesn't get in the washer. Then you don't have a large repair bill to remove the gunk from the machine," she replied, flicking water at him.

"Hey! I've already been baptized, thank you very much! At least, I _think_ I was!'

She flicked some more drops at him and asked him to let the cats out of the garage. Since she didn't know how the Morrows felt about cats, she'd opted to leave the cats out in the garage. She had installed a cat door to enable them to go in and out of the garage to use their litter pan, and the door could be closed off with a sliding panel.

The cats were happy to be removed from confinement, but snubbed their people as punishment for their banishment. Once their food dishes were filled, all was forgiven.

Though the following day would still be an off day for Alex, Cat was feeling a bit melancholy. The past few days had been exciting, and the inevitable 'coming down' was starting to set in. She'd gotten to like having Alex around more often. After this night, there was going to be a lot of separation, just as before.

She was curled up in her recliner, her legs dangling over one arm of the chair, staring out the window. Misty was curled up in her lap, purring as her mother idly stroked her.

Trager returned from his backyard smoke, taking in the pensive expression on his wife's face. He was pleased that the evening had gone so well, all due to Cat.

He leaned against the arm of her chair, his hand on her cheek, one finger caressing it.

"Tired, babe?"

"No. Just thinking," she replied.

"What about?"

"Stuff, nonsense." She gazed out the window some more, then added, "A little bit of both."

"Uh-huh" He moved his hand under her chin, tilted her face up to meet his and kissed her lightly. "The come down is always a bitch after a high like this, babe. Real life can be that way; it's what we have to do in order to enjoy the good stuff."

Her eyes gazed into his. Damn, he could read her _too_ well sometimes! "And your point is?"

"What's that song Seger does, something about we've got tonight? Why don't we make the most of it?" He picked up Misty, ignoring her squeak of protest, petted her, set her on the floor and drew Cat to her feet.

"Wait here," he instructed, moving to the stereo. He selected a track on the CD player, then fast forwarded through the trumpeting introduction to Meat Loaf's 'Home/No Matter What'. As the piano introduction played, he turned to her, holding out both hands. "I don't believe we've had our wedding dance yet, wife."

She took his hands, and he swept her into his arms. They moved to the music, his chin resting lightly on her head, which was nestled on his chest. Alex began speaking some of the words to the song:

"No matter what they tell you

No matter what they do

No matter what they teach you

What you believe is true.

And I will keep you safe and strong

And sheltered from the storm

No matter where it's barren

A dream is being born.

No matter who they follow

No matter where they lead

No matter how they judge us

I'll be everyone you need.

No matter if the sun don't shine

Or if the skies are blue

No matter what the ending

My life began with you.

I can't deny what I believe

I can't be what I'm not

I know this love's forever

I know

No matter what."

He dipped her as the piano and chorus took over, and kissed her. He maintained the dip through the end of the song before finally letting her back up.

He left her just long enough to turn off the stereo before the next selection could tarnish the mood.

"When you sang that at karaoke night last week, you were looking right at me the entire time. Those words seemed to be written about us."

"It just seems to say it all, doesn't it?"

"Why don't we ride out to that lake you like, maybe watch the sun rise?"

They put on their leather jackets, gathered their helmets, and headed outside. When she started for her bike, he took her hand and led her to his.

"Tonight, we ride together."

This time she put up no resistance about the idea.

They did greet the sun the following morning, though they'd fallen asleep long before sunrise.

Trager had packed a couple of blankets on the bike, and they were wrapped in those to keep warm. The sound of birds chirping a welcome to the sun's first rays alerted him to the impending dawn.

'Damn things are too cheerful when a body's had no coffee," he grumbled.

On their return to town, Trager made a slight detour by pulling into the drive to the Teller-Morrow lot.

He waited for her to dismount, then backed his bike into position along a row of bikes. He shut off the engine and pulled her next to him.

"That's where I do the legitimate work, fixing motors and things like that." He shifted position in the saddle, turning her attention to the clubhouse. "That's where I spent all of my off time, until you came along. C'mon, I want to show you around."

She felt a little reticent about going in, only because she'd never ventured inside such a testosterone laden place. She wasn't certain her presence would be welcome in a man's domain. But this was a part of her husband's life, and he wanted to share it with her. Time to put on the big girl drawers and deal with it.

Before they reached the doorway, Trager stopped and removed his ring, slipping it into his front pocket where it'd be safe. He waited for her to follow suit, then opened the door for her.

At first glance, the interior of the clubhouse looked like any other lounge or club. There was a bar, pool table, all manner of neon signs, couches and chairs scattered about. There was also a fridge, microwave, large screen television and a computer area.

An obvious 'stripper pole' and a Rouge's gallery of mug shots were the biggest difference from a neighborhood bar.

"Quite a little set up here," she remarked.

"Yeah, it's not a pit of evil–at least for the moment," he replied.

"Hey, Cat! Nice to see ya!"

She waved a greeting back at the club members. Apparently women weren't considered persona non grata when parties weren't going on.

"Yo, Tig!"

He also acknowledged the greetings with a wave, turning Cat's attention to a closed door, the window blinds closed.

"That's the chapel, were we conduct club business. No woman can enter. Not even Gemma."

Her eyebrow shot up at that pronouncement. "Whoa, sacred male territory, eh?"

"Don't even think it, kitten," he admonished. He took her hand and led her up a short flight of stairs.

"These are rooms where some of the single guys can stay when they need to, or if a guy's had a little too much to drink to ride safely."

"Which would be anytime there's a party," she replied. "And you want me to know this so if there's some nights you don't come home, you'll be here safe and snug, eh?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, but there's not that many parties. The last blast was the patch over. That kind of thing won't happen very often. Not that there won't be a few late nights or early mornings, though."

"So what else is new," she said. "By showing me all this, you're giving me the okay to come visit the garage, and even the downstairs, so long as the chapel remains off limits. That's reasonable."

Trager enfolded her in a fierce embrace. By showing her the clubhouse, a part of his world, he had hoped to give her a little inner peace. It looked like he succeeded.

"Ready to go home, now? After all, we've still got the rest of the day, let's make the most of it."

That evening, Trager presented Cat with a chain to secure her ring to and wear under her shirt. The chain was similar to one he would be using.

"I know it's not the same as wearing it, and I'm sorry about that, babe, but at least they'll be next to our hearts."

"It's the price we pay for safety and security, love, it'll be ok," she replied.

"Clay and I have a meeting tomorrow night. It'll be late. I can't tell you when I'll be home."

"Just as long as you_ come_ home," she replied.

Because of the four days away, Cat had scheduled herself to open the shop, which mean a very early morning for her.

Trager came over once he woke up. As the morning rush began, he sat in his usual corner, drinking black coffee and watching out for his wife. Once in awhile she'd come around with the coffee pitcher to make refills for customers, and usually gave him a smile or refill as she passed.

She didn't feel it necessary to cling to Trager every minute he was around. People knew they were together, and an occasional hug or kiss hello and goodbye was all that was needed in public.

Once he left for the garage, Cat kept busy with her regular tasks, ordering coffee, making baked goods, and working on other administrative concerns.

She took a break around 1130 to go for a ride, but resisted the urge to go by the garage.

Early afternoon found her reading in the backyard. The cats were with her, enjoying a little outside play. Trager came home for a few hours between work and the evening meeting.

They sat in silence after he greeted her, she keeping an eye on the cats while he enjoyed a smoke and being with her.

After they'd gotten involved, and because Trager preferred her cooking eating out, Cat had developed a knack for using the slow cooker and her indoor grill. The slow cooker allowed her to make roasts, stews, and chili that would keep until he could get in. The grill could be used to make something quick and satisfying. It was another one of those adjustments she had made to her lifestyle that benefitted them.

She was glad that Trager didn't insist on being served if he got in really late. On those occasions, instead of waking her up to take care of him, he'd help himself. Cat was more than willing to play the dutiful wife when they did have meals together, so this night was no exception. She had made pasta with sauce, bread sticks and salad. Naturally the cats begged for tidbits, but their efforts went unrewarded.

When it came time for him to leave for the meeting, Cat didn't make an issue of it. This was club business and none of hers unless Alex wanted to talk about it with her. She'd just follow the same routine she'd followed before. The only thing that had changed was their commitment to each other.

They embraced goodbye. "Don't wait up," he said.

"I won't. Good luck tonight. I hope things turn out the way they should."

She spent the remainder of the evening reading, playing with the cats, and catching up with her father, calling it a night after the news. She settled into bed, glancing at the photo on her bedside table. It was a portrait shot of Alex, taken in the clubhouse.

He was standing in front of the bar. Though he wasn't smiling, he wasn't frowning, either. It was her favorite picture of him.

"G'nite, love. Come home soon and safe," she murmured, settling under the covers. Three furry bodies settled down along her side, purring her to sleep.

Trager and Clay entered the bar, located Hays and introduced Tig. Both men had left their SOA attire back at the club. Sometimes their club business didn't need to be advertised, and this was one of those times.

The three sat at a table in a corner where Trager could watch the door and the wall was to their backs. Standard procedure, and always served them well.

Just as they completed business, a group of men entered the bar, guns blazing. Without hesitation, Trager, Clay and Hayes returned fire, the bloodbath ended in a few minutes, but Hayes was wounded.

Trager put a call out to the Sons, the van was brought out to retrieve Hayes and take him to the SAMCRO clubhouse.

'Quite a welcome home," Trager thought to himself. "Nothin' like jumping back in with both feet.'

He examined one of the dead assailants' arms, called Clay over to witness the tattoos of one of the Mayan gang members. A check of the other dead would-be assassins brought the same discovery. Trager didn't have to say it; a hit had been put on Clay. The most likely suspect was Darby, the leader of the Nords. Darby had been chomping at the bit to sell drugs in Charming, only to be stopped by SAMCRO. It certainly made sense. Especially after the warehouse fire.

Once Hayes was on his way to the clubhouse, Clay and Trager stood outside the bar discussing the situation with Jax and Opie. Clay related that Hays had taken bullets intended for him, and there was retaliation to be had.

Jax disagreed, reminding them that they had neither the guns nor the money to make a retaliation possible.

Clay felt otherwise, when necessary, guns and money could be obtained. A good man took two bullets meant for him. Something had to be done and done immediately, but Jax was adamant.

The impromptu meeting ended with no clear determination. Trager and Clay watched the others leave. Trager took the opportunity to speak frankly about something that had been in the back of his mind during his absence. He expressed his concern over Jax's recent behavior. Even though Jax was Clay's stepson, Trager didn't trust Jax.

Being Clay's right hand man, he felt it important to discuss the matter and get it out in the open. If this didn't prove to Clay that Jax was a weak link, Trager didn't know what would.

Clay listened to what his friend had to say. Tig was voicing concerns that Clay himself had. Hearing Tig put voice to them helped Clay see the forest for the trees. He knew Tig had his back. "I hear ya," he told his friend at last. "I hear ya."

Everyone involved in the gunfight was present at the clubhouse, except Jax. No surprise there to Trager. The VP walked in a couple of hours later, took one look at the situation with Hays' wounds, and spoke tersely with Chibs.

Then he left the clubhouse to find a doctor for Hays. Trager figured he would get his doctor girlfriend. Trager had no use for the woman doctor. It was because of her that SAMCRO had been plagued by the presence of not one, but two ATF agents. While she might be of use as a doctor, she was bad news for the club. Since he wasn't needed and didn't want to see the doctor, he headed home.

A soft light illuminated the living room when he pulled into the drive. It wasn't necessary for Cat to leave a light on for him; his night vision was as good as the cats'.

He checked the premises to make sure all was secure, turned out the light and walked to the bedroom. His wife and the cats were sound asleep. He stood in the doorway, taking in the quiet and peace of his domicile in the soft glow of the bedside lamp she'd left turned on. It was on his side of the bed, but he feared the illumination might bother her sensitive eyes. It was another courtesy she extended to him out of concern for his comfort.

He quietly and quickly undressed and slid into the bed beside her, moving up along her back and sliding one hand under her.

"Hey," she greeted him drowsily.

"Hey, back," he whispered.

"What time is it?" She brushed her cheek against the hand under it.

"Time you should be sleeping. I didn't wanna wake you."

"You didn't. Occupational hazard in being a wife. Everything go ok?"

"I wouldn't be here if it didn't."

She turned over so that she was facing him. Something in his voice told her things didn't go so well. She was much more wide awake now.

"Anything I can do to help, love?" She asked.

He clasped her face between his hands, kissing her deeply, hungrily. "Not by talking, since you're awake."

It wasn't the first time that he'd come to her following a major FUBAR with a club endeavor to find solace in her body. It was unlikely to be the last. It was something that helped him, so she willingly gave herself to him. At times like these, the lovemaking had a more fierce quality to it. He was never brutal with her when he was needing her in this way.

Cat knew that he used this as his way of purging the pent up emotions involved in whatever had gone wrong, Once he'd shuddered through the inevitable release, he never failed to make sure she got her own.

His passion spent at last, he held her close to him, kissing and caressing her.

"Feel better, love?" she looked up into the blue eyes over hers.

"Much. Did I hurt you?"

"Never," she assured him.

He rolled onto his back, attempted to draw her head to his chest as he often did. This time, she moved his head over to her breast. She stroked his hair in the same comforting manner he'd often given her.

"It's ok, love," she whispered, still stroking his hair. His arms had wrapped around her, his breathing slowed and evened out.

"Clay's been arrested," Trager announced later that day as he stormed into the house. One look at his angry features caused the cats to flee for the safety of the bedroom.

"What in Hell for?"

"Questioning by Uncer. But it's the Feds way of messing with the club," Trager was pacing back and forth, a sure sign he was wanting to do something and unable to act.

"Has bond been set or anything like that?"

"No, that's the problem. Feds can hold a body without bond just because they can!"

She decided the best thing to do was to let Alex rant. Sometimes he just needed a sounding board, and he often drafted her ear. She wasn't expected to come up with answers or suggestions, just listen. She pulled a beer out of the fridge and wordlessly handed it to him.

"Thanks." He popped the top and took a deep swallow.

"So what's the worse case scenario for the club?" Cat dared to ask.

"I don't know. We've got stuff going on, we really need Clay available. If he gets out soon enough, it's not a problem. If the Feds keep him tied up, the club's in deep shit."

"Doesn't look like there's much anyone can do right now, except wait and see, which is a bitch, ain't it? Daddy calls it having your feet firmly planted in mid-air," Cat replied, noting that the beer was taking some of the edge off her husband's frustrations.

Trager grinned a little. "That's true in this case. That's a pretty descriptive phrase. Sorry to be gruff, babe. I just don't handle waiting very well."

"Really?" Cat allowed just a hint of sarcasm to tinge her voice. "Gee, I wouldn't have known!"

Clay was released from custody after a few hours. It was obvious to the club that the Feds hoped to rattle SAMCRO by detaining Clay. It didn't work very well

Half Sack, the Prospect, was becoming a pretty good fist fighter, judging from Trager's remarks on the subject, and the club was planning to enter him in a bare-knuckles brawl, which promised a significant winner's purse.

Cat offered to invest a few dollars in Prospect's chances, much to Trager's surprise.

"He's a nice enough fella, and the club's been good about supportin' my shop. This is one way that I can give back to SAMCRO for helpin' me," she explained.

The fact that Half Sack won the purse was cause for celebration, and Cat won a nice return on her investment. She promptly gave it to Trager for the club, to help with what she called their 'empty pocket' problem.

"Why in Hell did you go through all this rigamarole?"

"Because y'all probably wouldn't have taken the money directly from me," she replied. "If it came from betting on Prospect, I figured your collective male pride wouldn't be so wounded!"

She ducked and ran off from the playful swat he aimed at her.

Several weeks later, Cat had her own meeting with the Feds. Agent Stahl had been looking into the Sons' background, looking for anything she could use against them. She'd decided to work on their women, and started with Cat.

Stahl was tall, what was known as a dirty blonde, and all business. In some circles, she might've been known as 'butch' as she tried very hard to be as tough as a guy in dress and in her demeanor.

Cat was immediately on her guard when she saw the agent walk in, though she maintained her outward friendly and courteous demeanor.. At least until the agent started talking.

"So you're Trager's old lady," Stahl remarked.

"That's one way of puttin' it, though girlfriend is a more preferable phrase. Are you jealous or somethin'?"

"Hardly. But I do have some questions for you, if you've got a moment."

Considering that there was a lull, and no other customers were in the shop, it appeared that she did have a spare moment. Using the counter to hide her movements, Cat slipped her hand into her pocket and activated the two way cell. Whether Alex answered or if the voice mail picked up, she wanted him to have some kind of record of the agent's visit.

"It's your time sheet, start talkin'," Cat stated.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting down?"

"Standin' is part of my job. I'm not interested in sittin' if you plan to try to stand over me. If you want to sit, we can. If not, state your case, as I do have things to do."

"Think you're a tough gal because your boyfriend's in a gang, eh?"

"I_ know_ I am, whether there's a man in my life or not. Especially when I have to be," Cat replied.

"Look, I don't have any problems with police, local or federal. I respect all y'all when you do your job. Now, if you wanna mess around with me, better have a damn good reason for it, lady. I don't take kindly to bullshit."

"Oooooo, I'm so scared!" Stahl replied, her voice an insulting drawl.

Cat fingered her trusty baseball bat, shaking her head slightly at her assistant. Pete was moving towards the counter in case of trouble. He knew from her expression that she wanted him to stay within earshot, and suddenly discovered some nearby shelves that needed his immediate attention.

"If you're just here to be a nuisance, then don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out. If you have legitimate business, quit wastin' my time and get to it. You are rapidly crossin' the line from customer to trespasser."

Stahl placed a thick file folder on the counter, it had Trager's name on it. "Maybe you should take a look at the extensive record your boyfriend has."

Cat's eyes narrowed angrily, "That frackin' folder doesn't contain anything I don't already know about. Is this your important business, to try to put a wedge between me and Tig? Maybe I need to write my congressman about misuse of federal funding."

"Look, Marshall, all I want to know is everything you know about SAMCRO. Boyfriends talk to their girlfriends, so talk to me."

"Is_ that_ what it's going to take to get you out of my hair?"

"That's it."

"Ok, fine. If that's all you wanted, why didn't you just say so and leave the theatrics to the pros?" She paused dramatically, then lowered her voice a little, speaking in a confidential tone.

"Y'see, the Sons are a bunch of middle aged mechanics who happen to ride Harleys. They hang out in their clubhouse and converse with other Harley owners. As for the name of the club, it's just one of those man things, y'know, makes 'em feel macho. They drink beer, hire a stripper or two from time to time, and just have their little boy fun."

Stahl glared at Cat, as that wasn't the response she had anticipated nor wanted. "You think you're smart?"

"Got myself a Bachelor's degree, That and 50 cents gets me a cup of coffee here, so it shure looks like it."

"I could run you in for obstructing justice," Stahl replied.

"I'd like to see you try! You asked a question, I answered it. You don't like the answer, that's your problem. I have a witness that can attest that you asked a question and it was truthfully answered."

Cat leaned over the counter just a bit and growled, "Though it's been a number of years, there was_ nothing_ in my criminal law course to indicate telling the truth is obstructing justice."

She continued to glare at the agent, who was beginning to get flustered and upset. She'd underestimated this woman. Obviously, Trager kept her in the dark, and she liked it that way.

Cat stood as tall as her short stature allowed, the wooden baseball bat cradled in her arms.

"While I'd enjoy nothing more than to spend the rest of the day exchanging wits, Agent Stahl, I'm afraid it'd be an uneven exchange. Unless you want a cup of coffee or a smoothie, I suggest you get your bony ass out of my store before I have you arrested for anything else I can think of that will stick!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

She picked up the phone and dialed 911. "This is Cat Marshall at _Charming Pawse_, and I need you to send a car to take a trespasser away. I've already warned her several times that needs to leave."

She cradled the receiver and hefted the baseball bat again, tapping the business end in her palm.

"This isn't over, I WILL be back."

"Fine, if you come back for coffee, you're welcome. If you come back for anything else, better bring a frackin' warrant. Now, git!"

She started around the counter, but the ATF agent was moving to the door. Cat stood with the bat in her hands, continuing to smack the fat end into her palm, while Pete looked on in amazement. The bell above the door jingled as Stahl opened it, there was a pause as she looked back.

"I said, 'git'!" Cat snarled, taking another step towards the door.

The doorbell jingled again as the agent fled the store, Cat glaring daggers at it. "Frackin' cow!"

"Miss Cat, are you okay?"

"Just wonderful, Pete. Do me a favor, will ya? Man the counter for awhile. I'm goin' to the house. Call me if you need me."

"Yes ma'am!"

She checked the two way phone in her pocket, it was still connected, but she waited until she got to the privacy of her backyard to speak again.

Trager felt the two way vibrate in his pocket and opened it to hear Cat already engaged in a terse conversation. After a few more seconds of listening, he ran off to find Clay.

'Damn' , he thought to himself. 'Damn and double damn!'.

He signaled to Clay to keep quiet, pointing at the phone in his hand. He didn't dare put it on speaker, as it would give a tell tale chirp. Holding the phone between them, the two riders listened in to Cat's conversation with the ATF agent.

As the conversation progressed, Trager felt a surge of pride in his wife. She was holding her own very well against the agent. Granted, he hadn't shared_ everything_ about the club, but Cat knew enough that if tricked, she could get herself into a little trouble.

He was quite mortified to hear her describe the Sons the way she did. 'Middle aged?' he thought to himself. '_She's_ the one with the gray hair! She's gonna have to answer for that one!'

He could also tell by the way her accent was deepening that Stahl was pushing her buttons, but Stahl didn't know that was the case, and if Cat wasn't showing her anger, she might get out of the encounter unharmed.

It took every ounce of willpower for the pair to keep from cheering when Cat issued her ultimatum to Stahl, and the agent had to obey her.

They listened as the bell above the door jingled, then jingled a second time, accompanied to the sound of wood striking skin. "Frackin' cow!"

They heard her assistant ask if she were ok and her response. Trager put the two way on speaker as it was evident that Stahl was out of earshot. The line remained muted on her end, though they could hear sounds coming from the phone. A door slammed, then another slammed.

"Were you able to hear any of that?" she asked, her voice hard as steel.

"We both did, babe. Clay's with me"

"How much?"

"Enough to know you put that bitch in her place," Clay replied.

Cat breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thank God', she thought to herself.

"For all the damn good it did," she replied angrily. "She's one of those **C**an't **U**nderstand **N**ormal **T**hinking types that piss me off!"

Trager grinned at the way his wife could put such emphasis on four particular letters. "I can tell, babe." To Clay he added, "My sweet old lady just called Agent Stahl a very unladylike name!"

"So I noticed," Clay replied dryly, though his admiration for Tig's wife had increased.

"Good thinking, Cat, calling Tig to hear what was happening."

"Thanks, Clay. That bitch has a wild hair up her ass where y'all are concerned," she replied. "Watch your back."

"I owe you one, Cat. I'm going now, let you and Tig have a little time alone."

Trager took the phone off speaker, all pretense of joking overcome by his concern. "Talk to me, babe."

"There's nothing more to talk about, Alex. Y'all heard the important stuff. Thanks for bein' so quick to pick up, I wasn't sure that voice mail would've gotten any of it."

Cat's voice was still hard enough to grind nails to powder. He was concerned as she wasn't used to police interrogations, even though she'd handled herself well in this one. "You okay, babe?"

"I am PISSED! That bitch wants to mess with the club, that's her business and all y'all's prerogative to deal with. She wants to mess with me, she's gonna find herself doin' a lot of dry humpin'! NO one tells me what I think or know or feel. Frackin' cow!"

Despite his concern, Trager was smiling like the Cheshire cat at his wife's feisty tirade. He hoped to never wind up on the receiving end of that temper. She was like a wildcat on crank. "Babe, breathe a little! Take it easy! Want me to come over?"

She took a deep breath before replying, "Naw, thanks anyway, love. It ain't necessary and I ain't in a very lovin' mood right now. I need to do something to settle down."

He could picture her pacing back and forth in the back yard, restless as a caged animal ready to get out. "Baby, don't go on the bike. You're far too upset to handle it, and you could get hurt."

She drew breath to protest, but he didn't give her the chance. "Besides, you don't want to give that bitch a reason to pull you over. She's probably sitting a couple of streets over waiting for you to come tearing down the street!"

The line was silent for awhile. He feared that she might have hung up except he could hear her breathing for control. "Y'know, Alex, there's something that I _really_ dislike about you. I hate it when you're right!" She sighed in surrender. "Ok, you win. No ride. I'll just do some Tai Chi."

He released a deep breath that he didn't know he's been holding. "If it makes you feel any better, you have my permission to think of Stahl being on the receiving end of those kicks and punches."

"I'll do so with or without your permission," she replied, still a little testy. "Nothing will give me more satisfaction. Later!"

Trager pocketed the phone and headed back to the garage. He passed Clay en route.

"Cat still pissed?"

"Royally. I've heard calmer hornet nests. I talked her out of taking the bike out."

"You need to go check on her?"

"Later. She's got this martial arts thing she does - Tai Chi - when she needs a way to wind down. She said she was gonna do that."

"And you believe her?"

"She's never lied to me before, she isn't lying now."

"Your woman's got a good head on her shoulders for not being in the loop, Tig. Don't lose this one."

"I don't intend to. If Stahl's desperate enough to go after Cat, we're gonna have to watch our backs - and our ladies' backs - big time."

Clay nodded. "Something tells me that Gemma, LuAnn, Donna and the other girls are in for some of the same treatment. It's not going to be pretty."

Trager decided to ride out to the house a few minutes later. Not that he didn't trust Cat to stay off the bike, but he wanted to see for himself that she was ok.

He also wanted to get a read from the employee, Pete, on what had happened at the store. Pete was one of the college students Cat had hired when they first got together.

He was very tall and thin, with a bristly mustache under his lip. Reminded Trager of the cartoon character Clyde Crashcup. But Pete was a loyal employee, and Cat counted on him as much as Anna.

"Hi, Mr. Trager!" Pete called out. "Miss Cat's not here. You might want to give her some space, she almost got into a cat fight today!"

"Give me a large black coffee, Pete, and tell me what went down."

Pete handed him the cup, then leaned against the counter, relating the confrontation in vivid detail. Trager was relieved to know he'd missed little of the conversation, silently grateful for her quick action. He almost choked on his coffee when Pete related how she'd described the Sons. He'd forgotten all about that!

"You'll be real proud of her, though. She never raised the bat, except to tap it against her palm."

"Where is she now, Pete?"

"I guess she's at the house. She called awhile ago to let me know she was staying there for a bit.."

"Ok, I'll go check on her. Thanks, Pete."

Trager left the shop and went around to the back yard. Just as Pete said, the bike and car were in the drive, and both motors were cool. "Good girl!" he thought.

He heard some shouts from the back yard, and looked over the fence to see that Cat was engrossed in a very strenuous workout.

She was actually repeating one particular form that ended in a double fisted snap punch. He could almost hear the bones pop from the force of her punches. If she wasn't careful, she'd hurt herself.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she called out breathlessly, "Been there, done that, sport!" She continued the remainder of the movement, performed the cool down exercises, then flopped into a chair to towel off.

Trager opened the gate and walked to her. He took the towel from her and dried off her arms and face.

"Feeling a little better, babe?"

"I'd feel _much_ better if she was standing at the end of those punches," she replied. "Since she's not, I guess this will have to do."

He sat in the seat next to her, pulled her over to his lap so he could hold her. "You're something else, Cat. You held your own with that gash, But I _do_ have one bone to pick with you."

"And that would be?"

"Did you _have_ to refer to us as 'middle aged' mechanics?"

She grinned impishly, leaning back against him. "Would you have preferred the term 'old farts'?"

Trager winced and cleared his throat. "Come to think of it, middle aged does sound a little more dignified."

"I hoped you'd see it that way," she replied.

He stroked her arms, checking to see if there was any damage like she'd mentioned. "Everything feels ok to me."

"I had a muscle spasm earlier, worked it out on my own."

"Wanna have another work out?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Agent Stahl had no more luck with Donna and Gemma than she had with Cat as far as getting information was concerned. Though not as vehement as Cat, both women proved to be just as loyal to their men and unshakable.

There had to be some weak link in the SAMCRO women, and Stahl was certain she'd find it. She still believed Cat Marshall knew more than she let on, as bikers had a tendency to tell their girls everything. It was just a matter of turning over every stone.

Stahl eventually found her weak link in Big Otto's girl, LuAnn, who operated a porn studio. She got a warrant for a search of drugs, and found quite a cache of legal and illegal on the premises. This enabled Stahl to shut down Caracara Studios for a time, and to bring charges against LuAnn. In doing so, this put Stahl in a position to glean information about the club from the jailed Big Otto, who didn't want to see his girl doing time.

Even though Big Otto wasn't in with the club, he had information, and with the federal RICO laws, Stahl could use any old information to her advantage. She worked out a deal with Otto to make a statement, in return for LuAnn's release, and a conjugal visit.

The MC got word of Stahl's efforts, and with the help of Chief Uncer, devised a way to get word to LuAnn to prevent Otto from making the plan involved Trager getting into a fight at a bar, which brought all of Charming's finest to quell the disturbance.

Jax was able to deliver the message, and wound up springing Half Sack's girl, Cherry, who had already been picked up by Stahl on an out of state warrant. Jax didn't have much of a choice, as Cherry warned him she would rat out the club if she wasn't released.

Though Trager punched as good as he got, his face looked to Cat as if he'd gone several rounds with Evander Holyfield.

"You should see the other guys!" he bragged as she tended the assorted cuts. She just shook her head in mock dismay.

LuAnn delivered the club's message to Otto in time for him to take back his assistance and get a little revenge on Stahl. He wound up getting some time in solitary, but he felt it was worth it to get back at Stahl for going at the club's women.

Stahl, unfortunately, had an appetite for payback, and determined another, more insidious manner of attack on SAMCRO.

A friend of Piney's brought a request for help from the club to him, as a port commissioner named Brenan Hefner was giving the Irish a hard time. This same commissioner had been responsible for the death of a Son several years ago. Not only would it settle an old score, but it would take care of the Sons' gun debt as well.

Normally, Clay would have Tig do the work, but coming so soon on the heels of Stahl's interview with Cat, and also to test Opie's allegiance to the club, he selected Jax, Bobby and Opie to do the hit. Opie froze when the moment of truth came, and Bobby had to pull the trigger. There was an unseen witness to the shooting, who would cause a lot of trouble for the club in the weeks to come.

Cat felt the two way vibrate in her pocket. "What's up, love?"

"Feds just left, they've arrested Bobby. Didn't want you to hear about it and worry," Trager replied.

"Appreciate the heads up. Y'all ok?"

"Yeah. I'll be late tonight, we're taking Cherry and Hays out of town, I'm riding point."

"Be safe, love. See ya when I see ya."

Cat was glad to see the last of Cherry. The girl, who'd been a Devil's Tribe hanger-on, had come to Charming in order to be with Half Sack, whom she claimed to love. Something about Cherry rubbed her the wrong way, the young girl just seemed too flighty in her allegiance to Prospect. Even though she could sympathize with the girl's situation that led to her being arrested, she was a risk the club didn't need.

Later that day, when the paper came out, she learned that Bobby Elvis had been arrested for the murder of the port commissioner. The news story indicated that a witness had stepped forward with descriptions of the shooters, the artists drawings resembled Bobby and Opie to a 'T'.

She supposed it was selfish, she was relieved that it wasn't Alex's face staring out at her from the paper. She wasn't upset that he hadn't told her the whole story concerning Bobby's arrest. The important thing was that he hadn't been involved, and had told her before she read about it.

With Bobby jailed and a witness to verify that Opie was on the scene, Agent Stahl lost no time in seeding distrust within the club at what she considered its' weakest link, Opie. She started with a visit with Donna, who was packing because the house was in foreclosure. Donna wasn't willing to talk, much less entertain any thoughts of talking Opie into turning on the club. Donna wouldn't co-operate, and didn't know that Stahl had left her business card when she left.

Stahl had a listening device installed in Opie's truck and another in his cell phone, where they could be easily found. She also arranged to have Opie's family brought in for questioning while making it look like they'd gone into protective custody

SAMCRO met to discuss their ongoing concerns about Opie. They didn't want to believe that he would rat, but the evidence was overwhelming. There was the business card that Jax found at Opie's house, and the way he'd frozen at the hit on Hefner were just a part of it. The club's resident computer whiz, Juice, found a record of large payments made on Opie's behalf for the house and the truck.

Shahl had arranged for those payments in an attempt to make it look to SAMCRO like Opie had rolled over, or might still do so.

Opie had refused to sign anything for Stahl that would incriminate the MC, and she eventually had to release him and his family when she'd brought them in for questioning. The witness could only state that Opie was standing in front of Hefner when the murder took place. There was no evidence that he had been involved in the shooting.

But the damage was done, as doubt of Opie's innocence permeated the club. Opie had Jax serve as an intermediary between him and Clay. Opie asked for a safe sit down with the club officers which was granted. As the meeting commenced, Trager ran a scan of Opie's truck. Though he hoped it would find nothing, the scan resulted in his discovery of a listening device, which he destroyed. He also ran the scanner over Opie's cell phone, with the same result. Another bug.

He sauntered into the chapel, acting as if nothing was wrong, and listened quietly as Opie declared his innocence.

Once the meeting was over, with assurances that no one considered him a rat, Clay and Trager met on their own. Trager reported finding the two listening devices, proof that Opie was turning against them. Clay felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Opie was a second generation member. His father, Piney, one of the first nine founders. It couldn't be true.

But money and family trouble could lead a man to desperate measures, and a rat couldn't be tolerated. As always, Clay turned to his best friend to do the exterminating and Trager accepted, knowing it was necessary. Clay advised Trager to make it look like a rival club, preferably the 'One Niners', did the deed, anything to keep it from coming back on SAMCRO.

This was definitely something he couldn't share with his wife. She'd proven her love and loyalty to him time and again, but there was only so much she could deal with. Cat knew that there was a dark side of the club. She accepted it because she accepted him. That dark side would always be a part of him. She had never tried to force him to make a choice as Donna often tried to make Opie do.

He feared that if Cat to find out the truth, she would never be able to see it for the necessity it was, but as cold blooded murder. It was something she didn't 'need to know'.

The club only had one more week's retainer with the attorney, Rosen, following Bobby's arrest. If there was a trial, there wouldn't be any money to pay for a lawyer. Clay came up with an idea that would put money in the coffers. However, he only told the club one part of the plan.

That part involved selling the club armory to the Mayans, while setting up the One Niners to take out the rival group in retaliation for the attempt on Clay. The Sons would keep the arsenal and the money. The delivery was to be split. Trager and Opie would deliver the guns to one location, while Clay and Jax would pick up the money at the second.

Clay explained the remainder of his plan to Trager after they met with the Laroy. That plan was to have the One Niners on hand at the warehouse when the guns were dropped off. In the shootout, Opie would be killed, and it would look like the One Niners had done it Trager knew it was an executive decision, made for the good of the club. He didn't feel right about it. But he trusted Clay, and went along with it

The gun drop off didn't go well. The One Niners did show up, and Trager was nearly killed in the melee. However, it was Opie who saved his Trager had a clear shot on Opie after that, he found he couldn't pull the trigger. Part of him believed that it was because Opie had just saved his life. Another part told him it was because he loved Opie like a brother. It was not easy to kill someone you loved.

That evening Trager was in a quiet mood. He sat out in the back yard chain smoking. That in itself warned Cat that something was wrong, She suspected that it had something to do with SAMCRO. As always, she didn't question him. If he wanted to tell her, he would. If he didn't want her to know, so be it.

That didn't mean she couldn't be supportive of him. She quietly brought a beer out for him, and sat in the grass before him, gazing up at the sky.

He gulped the beer, not knowing what to say or do. He felt like he was being pulled in several different directions.

"I guess that being with me right now is like being a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs," he stated by way of gruff apology.

"You've been less taciturn, love. I wish you could tell me what's botherin' you. I'd like to help."

Trager reached out his hand, caressing her cheek. "I wish I _could_ tell you, babe."

"It's SAMCRO business, and not something you want me to know about," she replied, rubbing her cheek against his hand.

He sat down on the ground across from her, tossing the cigarette away. He bent so that his forehead rested against her knees. She stroked his hair, trying to give him whatever comfort she could.

"Y'know, love, sometimes when faced with an impossible task, it helps to see if there's another way to accomplish it. If nothing else, trying to go _around_ an obstacle is better than trying to bash your way through it."

Trager breathed deeply. Somehow, she could calm the most raging storm within him by a few words or a touch, or just by her presence. He found a slim hope in her words that he could work with, and he felt better.

"You're too good for me, babe."

"No, love, I'm not all _that _good. I'm no angel, just a woman tryin' to look out for her man."

"And you succeed," he replied, standing up, drawing her into his arms, and holding her close. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything," she replied.

"Yes, you did. You just don't know it."

His wife's words made he see that there was another way he could carry out his mission.

Trager's next chance to take care of Opie would be sometime after the welcome home party for Abel, Jax's baby son. Trager liberated a Land Rover and hid it not far from the street leading to Jax's home, so that he'd be able to follow Opie when he left the party.

Though he hated that she was sick, Trager was thankful that Cat wasn't up to going to the party. He'd have an easier time getting out of the house while she was asleep than leaving a party under her nose.

"You go on to the party, love," she assured him when he offered to stay with her. "No reason for both of us to snub Jax. Just remind me not to ever accept another sandwich from that joint." She didn't kiss him goodbye, as another wave of nausea hit her and she ran off for the bathroom. "Go on!" She yelled back to him. "I'll be fine!" She really didn't want him to hear her barf.

Opie and Donna took separate vehicles to the party; Opie the truck, Donna the car. When they left, Trager took off on his bike to get the Land Rover and prepare himself for the hit.

He traded out his SOA gear for his plain leather jacket, which he left on the bike with his two cell phones. The Land Rover was ready to go; all he had to do was get behind the truck and fire. He supposed some might consider it chicken shit to not pull to the side of the truck to let Opie see who was taking him out.

His wife's words came back to him about finding another way around an obstacle. He'd known Opie a long time and couldn't face Opie when he pulled the trigger. He was going to do the hit from behind and drive away.

The battered yellow pickup had stopped for a red light. He pulled up behind it, the halogen lamps gleaming. He put on a mask so only his eyes were visible. He stuck the machine gun outside the window and fired twice. The driver inside fell against the horn, which blared loudly. He pulled the SUV up beside the passenger side of the truck, only to see to his horror that he'd not shot Opie, but Donna.

"Shit!" His stomach lurched, but there was nothing he could do now. What was done couldn't be undone. He had to get out of the area before someone saw him. The Land Rover sped away just as a pedestrian happened on the intersection. He was already too far away for the pedestrian to read the plate number.

He drove several blocks and ditched the car. He checked one more time to sure there would be no fingerprints, shell casings, or anything else left behind that would be traceable back to him and the club. He took the machine gun with him; he could dispose of it in a safe place later.

He walked the blocks back to his bike, the scene playing over and over in his mind. He knew that thinking about it was not going to change anything but his mind refused to co-operate. He felt awful. Donna didn't deserve to die, but sometimes the innocent paid for the crimes of the guilty, and in his book, Opie was guilty. All the evidence poi nted to it. By the time he got back to his bike, he had gotten himself back under some semblance of control.

As Trager was walking to his bike, Clay got the call from Uncer about Donna. He and several other Sons rode to the scene, just as Opie pulled up in the family car. The paramedics were just removing Donna's body from the truck, placing her on a yellow sheet.

Clay was devastated by the sight of the blood and brain spattered pickup, and of Donna's body laying on a rubber sheet on the ground. He held his hands over his eyes, wishing he could wipe away the nightmare that played out before him.

Trager pulled up to the scene with Juice just as Opie was saying goodbye to Donna for the last time. He'd noted that his cell phone had a call from Clay, but no message was left. It had come about the time he'd taken off in the Land Rover.

It took the combined efforts of Chibs and Jax to tear Opie away from his wife's body so the paramedics could cover her with a sheet. Trager stood off to one side, cold and unapproachable.

Uncer walked over to talk to Clay, telling him it appeared to be a gang hit. A witness had called in the description of the Land Rover and the driver, presumably an African-American. It was obviously a hit meant for Opie. Clay glanced over at Trager, who felt at that moment like he'd been punched in the gut with a sledge hammer. He knew Clay didn't blame him for doing what had to be done.

Up until Uncer had brought news of the Feds' treachery to him, Clay had believed, as had Trager, that Opie was turning against them. A decision was made and carried out, that was all there was to it. If only it was really that easy to justify.

Trager wanted to ride home to lose himself in his wife, to forget that this had happened. Instead, he rode to the nearest bar and picked a fight. What right did he have to any solace, happiness, or peace of mind? He had killed an innocent person, the wife of a friend. He would have to live with that secret for the rest of his life.

He barely made it home in one piece, long after the bars closed. His face was bleeding on one side where a bottle had smashed against it. The pain was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside. There was no getting away from it. He stumbled into the bathroom and hit his head on the medicine cabinet. The mirror shattered, scattering glass shards all over the floor and waking Cat.

She took one look at his bloody and bruised face, and made him sit on the commode. She could clean and bandage his wounds a little easier that way. He wanted to push her away, he didn't deserve her concern and nursing care. He didn't deserve _her_. But he couldn't move away from her. He sat quietly, allowing her to tend his wounds, and watched as she wordlessly cleaned up the broken glass.

'With my luck, I'll live another seven years with this shit in my head,' he thought wryly.

Once the floor was clear, Cat took him by the hand and led him to the bed. He fell like a stone onto it. He sat with his head lowered and hands between his knees. He just couldn't look at her.

She knelt in front of him and removed his boots. She placed her hands on his knees, her eyes full of concern. He'd never come home both drunk _and_ beaten up. Instinct told her that something awful had happened that night, something he couldn't share with her.

His hands moved to her shoulders, as if he would push her away, but instead pulled her to him. He was shaking much like he had at the end of the wedding ceremony, but it wasn't the same kind of trembling. "Cat!" He groaned. He drew her as close as he possibly could, his fingers digging painfully into her shoulders.

"I'm here, love." She assured him, her arms encircling his waist.

His lips sought and captured hers in a rough kiss. She tasted the whiskey he'd consumed, tinged with smoke. Whatever had gone wrong tonight, it was major. She'd never seen him in such an emotional state. Once again, when something had gone extremely wrong, he turned to her for the comfort and solace only she could give. His hands and mouth grew rougher. He ripped the gown from her and flung her on the bed.

Despite her gastrointestinal distress, she didn't refuse him. He needed her to flush out whatever was troubling him, and so she willingly submitted to him. His lovemaking was much rougher this time, as if he were punishing her. She didn't protest the treatment. He needed to let it out and she would help him, even if it meant she might be walking funny in a few hours. She gave her body and soul to him.

When he got his release, he collapsed on top of her, his body a dead weight. She stroked his hair and wouldn't let him move from her.

"I'm crushing you," he protested.

"No, don't go. Stay." She held him to her, not willing to let him move from her.

He kissed her much more tenderly this time. "I hurt you." It wasn't a question. He knew he'd not been very kind this time.

"No, Alex. Loving you, being loved by you, even when it's rough, never hurts. I wish you'd accept that."

"Damn it woman! I just raped you!"

She reached up to him, drawing his lips to hers. "You can't rape the willing, love. It was rough, but it wasn't rape. I refuse to allow you to call it that. I'm not a victim damn it!"

"I don't deserve you, Cat. But I'd be lost without you."

She allowed him to roll away from her onto his back. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. Her hand stroked the hairs on his chest. She could hear his heart beating and his breathing.

He decided that now was as good a time as any to tell her what had happened, at least the cover that he and Clay had agreed upon.

"Do you feel better, love?"

"I'm getting there, babe. Something awful happened tonight, Donna was killed."

"Oh good God! How did it happen?"

"It looks like a drive by intended for Opie. She traded vehicles with him, and took the bullets meant for him."

"So it might've been the Mayans or the Nords or that black gang?"

He held her tighter. She was accepting the story as gospel. Why wouldn't she? She didn't know that he pulled the trigger. She could never know.

"That's how it looks," he replied.

"Damn. I'll bet it's due to Stahl and her manipulations."

"You're probably right, babe."

They lay holding each other, each lost in thought. He felt terrible telling Cat an outright lie, but the truth would be devastating to her, and to their life together. He'd taken the first step on another detour, and there was no turning back.

She woke before Trager to find that she was as sore as she'd anticipated. There were bruises along her shoulders where his fingers had dug into them. Other bruises, scratches and bite marks were dotted here and there. Her habitual long sleeves would cover most of the damage. She could walk, but it hurt a lot. She figured the more she moved, the easier it might get.

She decided to let Trager sleep and rode over to Opie's house to deliver several bags of ground coffee. The ride was uncomfortable, but driving was out of the question as cars lined both sides of the street. She didn't stay long as the house was busy enough with people coming and going. She did seek out Opie, as she knew what he would be going through, and wanted to let him know he wasn't alone.

He was sitting in the back yard on a child's play set seat, watching his children sitting morosely on the swings. Though it was a little tender to do so, she sat on the other small seat beside him.

"People never know what to say at a time like this, Opie. They look for all the right words. I've been where you are now. I lost my husband to an armed robber. His killer is still out and about back in Indiana. If you need someone to talk to who's been there already, call me, anytime."

Opie turned red rimmed eyes to her. She was right, a lot of people had expressed sympathy to him, offered to help with the kids. It somehow seemed hollow, as if they were going through the motions. This was the first time someone had said they knew his pain, because they'd lived it.

"I'll keep that in mind, Cat. It's just so hard to believe she's gone."

"I know. When you say goodbye in the morning, you don't consider it might be the last time you see that person on this Earth. Stay strong, brother."

She clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder, not letting on that she was also using it to help her get to her feet.

Opie covered her hand with his own, squeezed it gently.

Trager was awake when she returned, sipping coffee at the table. He'd slept so soundly that he never heard her leave. His eyes swept her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the way she moved so carefully. He felt sick.

"I took some ground coffee over to Opie's. People have been dropping stuff off all morning. His mother's there, Piney's been in and out."

"I should've gone with you."

She shook her head. "You needed rest, love."

"What about you? Considering what I did to you, riding around on the motorcycle had to have been mighty uncomfortable for you."

"Would you _**quit**_? I thought we had this conversation last night!" She snapped in exasperation. "Do you want to hear me say you're forgiven? I should _**never **_have to forgive you for lovin' me! Never! Do you hear me?!?"

Her cheeks were red with distress. Her eyes behind the glasses were bright with unshed tears. Her fingers tightened into fists at her sides. Why in the Hell was he so freakin' blind?

Trager rose from his chair and took her in his arms. He felt encouraged when she didn't flinch from him.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so sorry for not believing you. I feel so terrible to have hurt you."

"It didn't hurt, that's the thing. Being a little physically sore isn't hurt._** You didn't hurt me where it counts, **_dammit!" She was crying from frustration now, and that just made her more frustrated.

He stroked her hair as she spoke. He began to understand what she meant. Because she loved him, no matter how he came to her, he came to _**her**_ and her alone. Cat was the one he came to when he hurt and needed comfort, and she gave it freely because she loved him completely.

He was surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. Tears that weren't hers. It'd been a long time since he'd cried.

"I understand," he whispered.

She relaxed against him, completely exhausted from the emotional storm.

"While I was at the Winston's, I told Opie to feel free to talk to me about it. When Bill was killed, there was nobody around to talk to who understood. I hope you don't mind."

Damn, the woman never failed to surprise him. "I think that's a brave thing to do in reopening old wounds to help a brother."

"It ain't brave, love. It's the right thing to do. No one should have to go through somethin' like this alone, not when there's people around who care enough."

He couldn't get over that strength of spirt and giving heart she carried in that small frame. She gave without reservation or recrimination. Cat was a lifeline that he could never release.

The newspaper accounts substantiated the cover story. All the evidence pointed to a gang related drive by, nothing pointed at Trager or the Sons. There would be no viewing, just the funeral.

There was still the matter of the witness to contend with. Donna was dead, but the danger to the MC and Bobby remained. Trager, Clay and Juice met with Sheriff Trammel, to try to find out what he knew about Federal witness protection. They wanted to find out where the witness to Heffner's murder was staying.

Trammell could get the information, but he would need a case number to pull it. The Feds didn't keep that kind of intel by address. Clay knew of one person in town who could get that information for him, and that person owed him a favor. He took Trager and Juice with him to get that information.

Oswald looked up from brushing his horse to see his worst nightmare heading his way. He knew he'd have to pay back the MC for taking care of the clown, he'd just hoped it'd be later than sooner.

The trio had some insurance with them; evidence from the castration of the carnival worker that had Oswalds fingerprints on it. When faced with the possibility that the evidence could fall into the wrong hands, Oswald decided he'd rather assist the club than take his chances with the law.

While they waited for Juice and Oswald to return with the information, Trager confided in Clay about the difficulty he'd had with the realized that he relied very heavily on Trager, maybe too much. Being Sargent at Arms made him the club enforcer, and Trager was goof at it. That didn't mean he had to do _all _the dirty work.

Juice and Oswald returned with the lot number, which the men took to Deputy Trammel. Within a few minutes, he produced the address where the Feds were hiding the witness.

The night before the funeral, Chibs, Happy and Tig were directed to take care of the witness. The trio arrived at the 'safe house', knocked the deputies unconscious, and successfully lured the Fed outside. After a brief struggle with Trager, Chibs took the agent into a room of the house tied her up and gagged her.

A thorough search of the house turned up the witness. A young girl, was found cowering in a bedroom. The witness couldn't see their features for the ski masks they wore but she knew she was in danger. The trio looked at each other. They never expected the witness would be a woman. They hauled the girl up from the bed, bound her wrists before her with duct tape, and covered her face with an ATF agent jacket. Only then did they remove their masks.

"I'll do it," Happy offered.

Trager shook his head. "No, it's me.."

He forced the girl to a chair in the kitchen. "Sorry, kid," he murmured, putting the gun to her head.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Jax barged his way into the house from the back door. Like the others, he wasn't wearing his SAMCRO vest.

"You scared the shit out of me, man," Trager remarked, turning back to the matter at hand.

Jax ordered him to put down his gun. When Trager didn't comply, he cocked his gun and put it to Trager's head, yelling that he would put a bullet through Tig's temple..

"You think this through, brother!" Chibs admonished.

Jax ordered Happy and Chibs to leave, still holding his gun on Trager. The two remained in a tense standoff.

'It's not worth it, you don't want to make her a widow again,' he thought to himself and reluctantly lowered the gun.

Jax removed the jacket from the witness' head and cut the duct tape from her hands. He shouted to her to remember Trager's face, as he was not a good man and would kill her for ratting on his friend. As the girl got up to run away, he stopped her. He pulled out some money and handed it to her, releasing her to run off into the night.

"You just crossed the line, brother," Tig snarled.

The two men faced off and started throwing punches. .Jax had the advantage of youth and his righteous anger, eventually knocking Trager to the floor.

Down, but not quite knocked out, Trager slowly rose to his feet. No teeth knocked out, but some cuts and bruises. He could hear the Fed moving about in the back room, and knew he had to get out of there.

As he rode home, he knew that the situation with Jax wasn't over yet. If anything, his distrust in the VP had gotten worse. He'd continue to keep his eye on Jax.

Cat asked no questions when she saw the new cuts and bruises. She simply took him to the bathroom so she could clean and bandage his face again.

The funeral was held the following day. Charter SOA clubs would provide an honor guard for the hearse. Trager would be riding in that column.

Not being a member, and not owning a Harley, Cat would have to drive the PT to the cemetery, which she didn't mind.

What surprised her was that Jax didn't attend the service, and wasn't riding in the procession. As the VP, she thought he would've been present. From what Trager had told her, something was going on in that boy's head.

During the grave side service, she saw Jax walking towards the plot. Tara picked up his vest and walked over to him, helped him put it kissed, which annoyed the Hell out of Cat. To her, there was a time and a place for that kind of thing, a grave side service wasn't the place. She glanced over at her husband, her eyebrow raised in a query. He shook his head slightly, "Don't make an issue out of it" his expression told her. As if she'd make a scene when enough of one was going on already.

Jax took a blue carnation, held it to his lips, then put it on the casket with the others placed by the Sons. His gaze took in his mother, Clay, and Trager before he turned and walked away.

The service ended. Some people chatted with each other, others walked to their cars or bikes. Opie, his children and his parents remained seated. Trager had stood beside Clay, remaining stoic and calm throughout the service. He shared his wife's disgust at the inappropriate PDA by Jax and Tara, but it wasn't up to them to say or do anything about it.

He saw Cat carefully making her way back to the line of vehicles. He followed after her, indicating with a nod of his head that he'd meet her at the PT.

"You going out to the house?" He asked when they reached the car.

"Not Opie's. There's going to be way too many people there as it is. I paid my respects yesterday. If you need to go, that's ok. I'm headin' back home."

He reached his hand to her cheek, caressing it gently. "Think I will too. You're right, it'll be a zoo. I'll be right behind you."

He walked to his bike and noticed that Jax and Piney talking together in another part of the cemetery. He had a feeling Jax knew Clay had ordered the hit on Opie, but it was just a feeling. There was no proof, circumstantial or otherwise to tie him to the killing. He was sure of that.

He started the Harley and waited for Cat's PT to pull even with him. Then he wheeled in behind it and followed his wife from the cemetery.

He felt that he needed a break. He and Cat needed time from the club and he needed to be with his wife. While she might be okay emotionally, she needed time to heal physically. She'd never refuse him, but he knew her body was still too sore to accommodate him. The last couple of days had been Hell for both of them.

They hadn't gone away together since Vegas. She'd mentioned something about a radio station reunion back in Indiana. She'd talked about going but hadn't asked if he wanted to go along. Perhaps he'd would go. See what it was like living like a 'normal' person. Maybe it wasn't the life he was meant to lead, but he'd never know unless he tried. The idea getting out of town for awhile with his wife held a lot of appeal.

---- fini ----

**This story mirrors the series, but it is also a kind of 'alternate universe'.**

**What kind of challenges face the Tragers in the aftermath of Donna's death, the arrival of the League, and the gun running for the Irish?**

**You'll find out when Book Two comes out, once we know what's going on in Season 2.**

**In the meantime, any comments, criticisms (so long as they're constructive!) are welcome. I hope I've done the Trager character justice.**

**ML**

**October 2009**

**Indianapolis, IN**


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